


Bubble Dragons

by amillefleur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, heavy worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillefleur/pseuds/amillefleur
Summary: "I don't steal anyone's voices. I make my own."Thousands of students pass through Hogwarts. This is the story of a girl that creates many more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for choosing to read my story. I hope you'll find it enjoyable. Thank u to Dimond (pronounced Diamond) for beta'ing.  
>  This is a rewrite of my story, Lonely, on Wattpad and Fanfiction.net.  
>  Here is the cover:  
> 

Britain was colder.

The sun was weaker, and the atmosphere was blanketed, like a light mist that smoothed all edges. Everything seemed to carry a chill, just lacking enough heat that it was noticeable. Whenever she touched something, a zap raced up her arm and Eleonor couldn’t help but shiver.

The little tearoom was cramped, like everything in London was. Everything was covered with a fine layer of grime as if it was the 1800s and soot was almost as common as air. But to Eleonor? It had character. Everything seemed to fit together like a puzzle, making up one huge, gorgeous picture. There was something about the uneven wooden table and stools, the game busts, the oil lamps attached to the wall, flame flickering gently in the darkish restaurant.

Jenny returned, sliding into the seat next to Eleonor, a small cup of what looked like beer set in front of her. This must be the British drink butterbeer if Eleonor remembered correctly. It was nearly the only kiddie drink these wizards offered in public zones, with firewiskey being the other icon of the UK.

“How long is he going to be?” Eleonor sips the drink, a mouthful of the cream and the fizzy liquid tipping down her throat. The cream was delicious, but the drink vaguely reminded her of Sprite. A hyped-up version and slightly different from what she was used to, but lemonade nevertheless.

Eleonor’s potential school principle had named this dinky, backwater place was a place of meeting. But despite its interior, the store was situated on the main street of London’s iconic wizarding street, Diagon Ally. Its prime location meant constant advertising and convenience. It was no wonder why every table had a small family crowded around the edges, children of all edges eagerly waiting for their food or tucking in with gusto.

Her drink was gone in seconds, leaving Eleonor there to eye Jenny’s cup with contemplation. A flurry of movement caught her eyes, her head turning upwards to an older man. He had an epic beard, white, and almost reaching the floor. The end was even tucked into his waist. The man wore the traditional British robes, although the colour of them reminded Eleonor of a 10-year-old trying to be fashionable and forgetting everything about colour theory.

“Albus,” Jenny smiles, standing up to welcome the aged man to their table. Even sitting down, he towered over Eleonor. But his face was kind, beard thin around his mouth to showcase his bright smile.

“Jenny, my child, I haven’t seen you in a while.” He spoke as he settled onto the stool. “And you must be Eleonor.”

“Yes. Nice to meet you Mr Dumbledore.”

“So why choose Hogwarts, Eleonor?”

There were a lot of reasons why Hogwarts was coming into question. Some of them were circumstantial, some of them came out of nowhere, and some of them were just silly.

Both Eleonor and Jenny were Australians. Born and raised along the coast of Queensland, they could trace their ancestry back to the original owners of the land. Australia had their own magical school and was in the same league as Hogwarts. It was called the Sacred Sanctuary and replicated non-magical schools across the country.

Eleonor was slated to enrol there after she graduated from her current non-magical school. But something happened. Nobody is sure what, but the Sacred mysteriously vanished, leaving a literal hole in the ground. The Sacred was built on a magical tremor line, meaning that magic sometimes acted very strange, so no one suspected foul play. Like most of her would-be classmates, she would continue to high school on the non-magical scene.

But it came to light that Eleonor’s ancestry wasn’t pure Aboriginal after all. She knew that her grandmother was a part of the Stolen generation, meaning one of her parents were white. But when the email came from the Sacred (or what was left, as it vanished during the school year with all the students and staff) it also told Eleonor that they had found that she could attend a magical British school instead.

Eleonor gulped, mind rushing as she thought of the exact words she would say.

“I want to become a magizoologist and I thought, well, seeing as I already know all the magical animals at home, being over in Britain could allow me to learn about a wider variety of animals.”

“An interesting concept, but you do realise that you’re missing a year?”

There was a little hiccup in that plan. Because non-magical Queensland primary school still had their year 7, unlike the rest of the country, it meant that Eleonor was already 11-turning-12 in the eyes of Hogwarts school year. By all rights she was to start year 2 in September, missing the vital year 1. If she went to Sacred she would automatically go to Year 8, despite the fact the most of her grade would be a year younger than her.

“Yes. I… was thinking…” Eleonor glanced over at Jenny who simply blinked back and gave her a small smile. “I’ll wait until I graduate primary school in December and when Hogwarts returns in January, I’ll come with them. In the next few months, I’ll have someone teach me the basics of British magic.”

“Ah, a good solution.” Mr Dumbledore fell silent, contemplating the problem and solution inside his head, like turning two balls over and over in his hands. Eleonor wished she had more self-control, hand twitching around her cup, knowing if she raised it all she’ll see is the glass bottom.

“I know a few friends who graduated from your school.” Jenny gently interjects, “I’ve already asked them, and they’re willing.”

“It’s sound,” Mr Dumbledore warmly smiles, “I’ll go back to my staff and have a chat with them.” An ache rose, settling into her shoulders. This basically meant no, right?

“But, I highly doubt that you’re not coming to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays.” He smiled and then stood. “Thank you for coming to talk to me, all the way to Britain. I know it isn’t much effort, but thank you very much.”

Eleonor hurriedly stood along with Jenny, “thank you” and “nice to meet you” spilling from her lips without much thought, mind more content to freak out about the new development. In all honesty, she thought that she would’ve to pull out of her primary school early and join Year 1 to be accepted. Her wild idea was spoken out of humour, and yet Jenny was the only one to take her idea into consideration.

Mr Dumbledore disappeared out the door, leaving with a final smile and a gentle wave of his hand, and as soon as the door swung shut, Eleonor launched herself at Jenny, wrapping her hands around her shoulders and squeezing with all her might.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Eleonor loudly whispered, burying her face in Jenny's stomach. Her friend laughed and patted her on the head.

Jenny was an old family friend. When Eleonor’s parents were in university, Jenny was halfway through her years at the Sacred. Despite the weird age gap, Jenny was a close friend of Eleonor’s mum, and then her dad. Since Eleonor was born Jenny was always a certain factor in her life, a best friend however old Eleonor was.

Jenny was a magizoologist, and probably the best one in Australia. She travelled far and wide across the globe heeding the call of other magizoologists, from those who dwell deep in the Polish forests to those who survive across African deserts. It was Jenny who inspired Eleonor, although it was still a dream at work.

“Come on,” Jenny laughs, lifting Eleonor up and hugging her. “It’s still midnight back in Australia. Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see the cover of this story on wattpad and fanfiction net. both the story and my name is the same.

1

Eleonor had been visiting the Sacred for a very long time.

She only saw the entrance, of course, and that was the Admin building, a triple story house built at the birth of the 19th century and looked like it had not aged a day; it was the classic sprawling Georgian. A spread of smooth, carved stone stairs leads up from the vibrant soft grass, the little landing holding space for the majestic ornately carved wooden doors and two black kerosene lamps hanging off two hooks to the side of the entrance. The landing was sheltered with a small roof jutting out of the pale brick walls, held up with pilasters and columns, embellishment from top to bottom. The face of the Admin building was two marching rows of windows with vertical shutters for both the bottom level and the top. The ribbed roof was broken by three equally spaced attic windows, standing vertical from the slanted tiles.

Eleonor didn’t know how to describe this, of course, being only 11 and surrounded by Queenslanders. Beautifully built and age-old, but still simple houses on stilts. But this was the house that she had been visiting for the past decade, a promise that would end up never kept. She knew this house, even some of the inside, the transom window room that shouldn’t exist, the attic that was as big as a football stadium. Sometimes, she could watch the rest of the school through the back windows.

Her future could’ve been through those doors. Instead, she turned to the right, following the grey oval stepping stones the size of basketballs across the vivid green grass.

The garden was trim and bursting with colours. Low lying hedges, framed with a variety of flowers that burst with colour, crafted winding roads; they circled around various features such as large leafy trees to fountains to bird baths. The edge of the garden was marked with marching line of rectangle concrete stumps and solid iron fence beyond this was the authentic Australian orange dirt, dust and gravel. The big gumtrees and paperbarks spread far and wide, only a small ring of bare earth at the front gate spared the entrance from the forest line, ready for any visiting magical.  

This place was enriched with magic, from wards to spells to curses to enchantments. There were spells to stop any orange dirt from passing the iron fence, from trees growing in the small ring around the fence. There were spells to hide this from any normal passers, and, although destroyed may years ago, a curse against Indigenous people from accessing the green paradise.

Eleonor could feel the hum in the air, the brush of something supernatural over her arms, but could not identify it. The touch of magic brushing off the beaten red dust off her shoes was so light she never noticed it. But nevertheless, it was there.

The garden continued forever, and at her young age, Eleonor had not explored it yet. A small part of her believed she could never truly discover everything about this place, certainly now that she was to never have access to the Sacred. But she had access to another place, a secret place, hidden in a small pocket of space.

Ses cret Avenue.

The entrance Jenny and Eleonor were seeking was built into a hedge half the size of the Admin building – not even Jenny could hope to peak over the top. The flattened side of the hedge was broken by what seemed to be an arch of flowers; the metal arch was hidden by the growth, leaving an illusion of floating flowers. The vertical garden was built into the hedge, thousands of flowers seemingly bursting from the edge of the leaves. There were all sorts of flora, ranging from gorgeous rainbow roses to sweet desert peas to bottlebrushes; at the top, seemingly hanging from nothing but reaching higher than the hedges, was a Victorian lantern, dark brass contrasting with the flowers. A crown of poppies lined the top, a tribute to the ANZACs as was the eternal flame was too. Beyond this arch the garden continue to unfold, but Eleonor knew different.

This arch was not only iconic; it was the representation of the magical community in Australia. Their lack of government made them seem unruly and chaotic to other countries, but this is what united not only the magicals, but the variety of skin tones. This calming scent, this storm of colours, this garden glowing from the flame was familiar to Eleonor in ways she could not yet explain.

Jenny was only a few steps ahead of her, and Eleonor watched as she brushed the Cook Town Orchid, the flower emblem of Queensland, as she stepped through, vanishing, leaving only a ripple behind. Eleonor watched the flame as she followed, memorised even as she continued forward and the bottom of the brass lamp swallowed up the flame.

2

The Avenue didn’t have the lush garden, the artistic trimmed bushes, the swaddles of flowers as the entrance did; it was a dirty beaten unsealed road. This single road was the hidden key for magical Australians. This was where the highest concentration of magical shops, residentials and services were. And, unlike the rest of the country, they could freely display their product.

There was the cluster of Queenslander houses on the immediate left, untouched since their construction. Between them were small hiking trails that wove through native flora, no wider than one person and no longer than a pleasant stroll. The houses’ wide single rooms were perfect to house all the animals and pets available on the market, as Eleonor would know. The Queenslander Gumtree Homes was someplace that Jenny frequented constantly, interesting in overlooking the conditions the animals were kept and the occasional uncommon or rare creature they had on hand.

Opposite the Gumtree Homes was the entrance to the only magical town in Australia: the Rainbow Serpent was a gigantic suburb full to the brim with people and still growing. Inside there were more business and shops and services than what were offered on the main strip of the Avenue. It was teeming with people, families and children. Despite her decisions, Eleonor wondered how many of those kids she missed out being friends with. Instead, she was to leave Australia entirely. Eleonor turned away from the entrance.

The main road was wide enough for three cars to park side by side comfortably, as cities were done decades ago. It ended by circling around a fountain, just a block from the entrance to the Avenue. Behind the strip of shops, the houses from Rainbow Serpent clustered around, roofs visible now.

Not far from the Gumtree Homes was a line of brownstones, just five buildings so close to each other Eleonor knew she couldn’t poke a pinkie between them. This was Freda and Alastair’s Tomes, a bookstore that (magically) wove in-between each of the three-story sandstone buildings. Nestled between Freda and Alastair’s and Gumtree Homes was a small entrance to a dugout. Behind the descending stairs was a row of pipes hammered into the ground. The underground shop, originally from Cooper Pedy, was the only wand shop in the entirety of Australia. It was marked by the wooden board swinging in the wind above the stairs attached to the shades, inscribed with DIDJABRINGYAGROGALONG in strong capital letters. It had no official name, but it’s local name was simply Jabring, incorrectly lifted from the sign.

The rest of the street wasn’t something Eleonor frequented as much; oh yes, she did know them off her heart, she did; the clothes store, the potion apothecary, plus whatever other smaller stores that opened and closed as the years went by.

Eleonor never thought she would have to visit Freda and Alastair’s and Jabring; only half the magical population in Australia was trained with wands, and the Sacred gave out textbooks through the school, not through bookstores.

The brownstones were inviting; Eleonor couldn’t wait to thumb through the spines. Books were a valuable treasure to her, and trips to any bookstore, Freda and Alastair’s or otherwise, always was a day to mark down. But despite this, Eleonor turned to the Gumtree Homes, knowing from years of visiting this place that Jenny always booked it here first, so she followed up the wooden stairs, hand trailing along the striking blue handrails, keeping her eyes on the rich, dark wooden steps.

If there was something Eleonor loved more than books, it was animals.

3

The snake room took up what could be considered the bottom floor. Externally, the bottom looked like an empty parking area, enclosed with solid vertical wood planks with enough room between each piece to see through to the other side. If it was approached from the outside, it opened up to a small storage place, full of food for the creatures. But if entered through the spiral staircase from the inside of the top floor, it was completely different.

As Jenny descended the steps, the lights in the room slowly began to brighten from the small glow it was to a dim breath of light. It was just enough to see the small wriggling bodies congesting at the glass pane. The front door creaked open again, and she sharply looked up, happy to see Eleonor walking through the door. Her feet completed the last of the steps, landing on the compact earth with a soft thump.

The small rectangle viewing area was completely backed against the wall, the rest of the room a gigantic mini-ecosystem. Apart from cleaning it occasionally and boosting the spells, the staff boasted that it was high-functioning mini-world. In each corner there was a swamp, a lake, a desert and a forest. Each of these environments blurred together, creating more environments. Above each diamond-shaped head was a miniature sun, warming only one snake to their requirements. There was far more than met the eye, of course; charms and spells to protect each snake. Some of them believed they were the only snake in the enclosure while on the other hand some snakes just couldn’t touch other snakes. It all depended on their attitude and habits. Jenny would know, seeing as she helped build the damn thing.

Jenny lightly touched the glass, the muffling spell breaking with a simple twist of her magic. The previously muffled murmuring in the background shattered into a chorus of voices.

_“Jenny! Jenny! Oh Jenny! The poison I can spread!”_

_“I have great news – I am carrying!”_

_“Jenny I am afraid… this sun is too weak…”_

Laughing, Jenny met each of the snakes’ eyes and waved a hand until they fell silent. At least ten had congested around her, half of them she was great friends with, the rest simply interested in who she was. More of them were spread across the ecosystem, from the Willbilly in the swamp to the Avengi flying from tree to tree.

_“Flourish, my dear,”_ She turned her head slightly to address Flourish, a notoriously picky breed with demanding needs. It was no wonder the Gumtree Homes only housed one at a time. _“Your sun is too weak? Oh dear, let me fix that.”_ The sun above her head fluxed for a moment only to settle back to the same dimness. Flourish hissed, pleased, and gave her thanks before slipping off, returning to the desert.

_“Bilby, what great news! Prairie, are you talking about Bilby’s new hatch?”_

Jenny spied Eleonor out of the corner of her eye, content to squeeze herself in the corner to survey the pocket world. She was learning Parseltongue, but because she didn’t have the ability naturally, her hears didn’t have the automatic sensitive hearing to snake’s whispering like Jenny did.

For a moment, Eleonor stared through the glass at the plains that swept the area closest to the glass. On the other side of Jenny, the longer glass grew, and as it approached her right, and consequently, Eleonor, the grass shrunk until it was the beginnings of a dry barren desert just a few metres from Jenny’s younger friend. Then Flourish returned, drawn by Eleonor’s taste. Her tongue was flickering out rapidly, her head gliding between the blades of grass. She propped up her head just before the glass, giving her favourite human a toothless grin.

“ _Hi Flourish_ ,” Eleonor croaked, accent heavily evident. For such a picky snake, it was a wonder why Flourish loved Eleonor so much, despite her inability to hear her. _“How are you?”_

Flourish chatted away, ‘spilling tea’ (as Eleonor would say) left, right and centre, Prairie grumbling about how much she was a gossip queen. Perhaps this was why Flourish liked Eleonor, Jenny thought, bemused. She was skilled enough to show she was listening, guessing the correct places from Flourish’s pauses and wild flicks of her tail, and yet Eleonor couldn’t understand a single word she was saying, therefore could never share the gossip.

Jenny returned to the snakes, surveying the new ones who showed up. There was Kril-Po, who only ever showed up to glean gossip off Flourish whenever she was gasbagging with Eleonor. Mwe-ju and Ju-mwe, a runespoor with no right head, was no doubt wondering why the puny human was bothering them again. Nu-mi; Ruth; Ba-rei; Livvv; Ruuusworth; her mind effortlessly spat out name after name as her eyes jumped from the knot of snakes. There were a few brown and green snakes, simple but clean, but her vision was mostly filled with snakes of every colour and pattern. It wasn’t until her eyes landed on Poppy, a beautiful aqua-turquoise snake, that she remembered why she came here, and it wasn’t just to visit the snakes.

4

 There, in her hands, was the tinniest frog Eleonor had the pleasure of meeting. Her eyes flickered back over to a beaming Jenny, not quite believing what she said.

“Mine?” she asked, returning to the little aqua boy. drinking in the sight of the two knobs on its’ back and the pretty bubbles attached. Before her was a tiny frog; body no larger or thicker than a DS game card. Its legs were long and resembled sticks, much like Eleonor’s body did too, and its legs ended in wide but still adorably tiny feet, the underside a contrasting orange. Its head was mostly comprised of its mouth, big lips resting in a natural smile, and two gigantic eyes. These black balls where so disproportioned that it almost looked comedic, and there was little muscle or skin to suggest that the eyes were attached to the frog, leaving the eyes to look like floating black holes above its head.

“Dimond is yours.” Jenny smiles, taking the paperwork from the shop assistant signing it without a thought. “I certainly hope you know what Dimond is,”

There is was absolutely no way Eleonor didn’t know what a bubble dragon was. Bubble dragons ubiquitous all over Australia; they were tricky to deal with, as the European wizards and witches quickly found out. Thankfully, the Aboriginals knew exactly how to treat them and how to incorporate them into a family to become a companion. Within the past decade, white families had begun to show interest in having a bubble dragon as a pet.

In Jenny’s line of work, bubble dragons were as common as freckles; their magical ability to ‘steal’ someone’s sound always had a habit of popping up in clueless non-magical households, and was too busy falling in love over their adorable eyes to complain about the bi-monthly occurrence. Eleonor had been surrounded by bubble dragons her entire life and considered them to be the magical version of dogs and cats. Their magic was something to navigate, like a cat’s claws.

“He’s so cute.” Eleonor sighed, content, refusing to move her eyes away from his marble eyes and wide grin. “he’s basically a mouth and enough leg to throw that mouth at anything.” Dimond was a little skinny for his species; whenever he croaked Eleonor was afraid the skin under his chin would burst from how much it stretched.

“Shall we take him home or do you want to keep shopping?”

Eleonor considered the question, running through the facts that Jenny had told her about bubble dragons. Like other frogs, they need a body of water to reproduce but they also lived the majority(of their life?) in water or right next to it. They preferred to dig their homes into soft mud just a hop from the water. While Dimond _could_ survive without water much longer than a typical frog, it was not advised to do so. They should be kept in tanks (the bigger the better) with at least 40% water and the rest mud, wet dirt, tree stumps, moss, basically anything to replicate a true Australian tropical rainforest. Bubble dragons were typically found in humid and rainy tropical rainforests to the north of Australia, the majority living out on the Great Dividing Range…

“I think,” Eleonor carefully says, picturing the dry desert scene of the Avenue. “It would be best if he went home into one of your tanks.”

Jenny nodded, proud. Eleonor felt an inner glow of self-pride, elastic that she had answered correctly. Dimond ribbited as if he could sense her elation, a soft chirp that paled in comparation of what the bubbles on his back could do.

She slid her eyes closed in preparation for what she was about to do. She visualised the little shed that sat in the back of Jenny’s backyard, a small rectangular box made from old rickety wood and a slightly slanted roof that faced the house. The fence around it didn’t reach the top, meaning that Jenny had to occasionally deal with a child decorating it with some paint balls. The grass was patchy – as usual, in this northern heat – dry dirt peeking through the coarse grass blades.

Eleonor gathered her magic and compressed it in the air in front of her, imagining a worm hole that lead her directly from Gumtree Homes to Jenny’s back veranda. She stepped forward, feeling her magic ripple over her skin and opened her eyes. Sure enough, there was the backyard dunny. She had done this so many times she didn’t even need to think about it, Eleonor wanted to be extra careful with Dimond.

There was the small boy, sitting calmly in her hand. Eleonor happily skipped over to the dunny, swinging open the door and snapping it shut behind her once she had stepped through. Stairs that had no business being there descended from far beyond where the roof should be. These steps were only superficial, just a few to appear normal peeking neighbours. Once ascended, a paradise spread out in front of Eleonor, a little hidden world that was folded into the space of the shabby outdoor loo.

This was where Eleonor and Jenny spent most of their time. This was their home. This was their dream.

Smiling, Eleonor stepped forward.

5

_Migk Youth and Olde, Ace of Trade: Dragonology, Heather’s Guide to the Lost Student: Finding Your way through Hogwart’s Library…_

She ran her finger over the spines, head slightly tilted to the side as she read them. This wasn’t a section she visited often, it being the international textbooks of course, and she needed a quick look over to see what was there.

_Ye Olde Booke for_ _ſoul_ _ſ lo_ _ſt: A guide to Old English, Latin for Curious Young Wizards and Witches, History of the Relationship between Magical Creatures and the Magic Folk…_

Jenny wasn’t sure about this Hogwarts business. It was popular belief that the Sacred was only going to be gone for no more than a year at most, but she had surveyed the land and the residual magic. Jenny knew in her gut that Eleonor would’ve waited for most of her teenage years before going to the Sacred – that wouldn’t do. She needed to go _somewhere_.

Because if there wasn’t any school – because if she didn’t go to a _magical_ school, then Eleonor would grow lazy, ditch books, her grades would slide, and she’d eventually end up becoming an underdog of racist yummy mummies and white politicians –

But Jenny had _heard_ somethings about Hogwarts… and while some of that may be mere mutterings of bitter ex-Europeans who couldn’t go, everything had a drop of truth.

She worried her lip with her teeth, a bad habit that wasn’t useful around a table of poker. The book fell out of the shelf with a twist of her magic, right into her hands. It opened, pages lazily turning, but never failing to hit the beat. Her eyes quickly raced over the paragraphs, mind racing as she deciphered the hand-written words. Half of it didn’t make sense to her; pronunciation, wand movement, intent, the division of magic…

Without realising it, Jenny had picked up an introduction to magical creation, a class that Hogwarts only taught to gifted youths in seventh year. Typically, those interested in this class had dreams to become spell inventors, an incredibly difficult but rewarding career.

_Oh my god_ , she thought _Eleonor must learn this?_

Worried, she placed the book into the basket at her feet, returning her gaze back to the bookshelf. Jenny hoped her trait of book-obsession had been passed onto Eleonor because it was becoming increasingly clear that she would need it. _Consult a book first_ , she would say to her small friend when she had a question, _only ask when you can’t._

She pulled out another book, this time the introduction to Care of Magical Creatures, and she sighed in relief when she read the contents. At least there would be _something_ Eleonor would rein over. She slid the book back into the shelf and paused, eyes wondering over to the languages department. _Perhaps a few Latin books wouldn’t be too bad…_

“Jenny,” she turned at her name, head automatically tilting down to see Eleonor’s beaming face staring up at her. “Dimond loves his home! Can I learn some spells so I can recreate your tanks at Hogwarts?”

“Of course,” Jenny automatically replied, a small burst of pride at Eleonor’s pursuit of both knowledge and care for Dimond. “Would you like to learn Latin while you’re at it? English spells are majorly from Latin.” Eleonor shrugged and nodded, and joined Jenny in looking at the books.

“I have a lot to catch up on, so why not?”

They had received word no later than three days since talking to Albus that Eleonor was accepted into Hogwarts and that her idea of using the first term to catch up was approved by teachers. Jenny had immediately set out to ask all her British friends for teachers, and while response was slow coming, there were at least three prospective teachers ready for Eleonor.

“European magic is considerably different from our magic, so expect a lot of reading and hard work.” Jenny reminded her.

“I’ve already talked to a girl in my grade whose parents are Dutch; she’s starting to learn magic with a wand too and has been sharing what she’s learnt so far.” She shyly admitted. “It’s a bit hard seeing as I don’t have a wand.”

Aboriginal magic didn’t use a wand; both Eleonor’s family and Jenny had another type of magical focus, a piece of jewellery embedded into their body. Eleonor’s parents, whom had grown up in a considerably more racist society, had simple ear studs. Jenny didn’t care if having an ear cuff made her look like the stereotypical troublesome Aboriginal, and had even gotten a fancy dragon that wound around her ear. Eleonor had taken after Jenny; a simple plain stud with a small chain connecting it to the bland ear cuff. When she was eighteen she would choose a fancier piercing as a coming-of-age ceremony.

 Eleonor had moved to sorting through the books in the basket, giving the titles a cursory glance. Jenny could see that she was excited; her leg bounced, a big silly grin stretched across her face and every so often she would glance back up to Jenny, as if she was assuring herself that this wasn’t a dream.

“You know what,” she said, the words falling out of her mouth before she could think them over. “Let’s go get your wand after this.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for racist character in part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for racist character in part 1.

1

Jabring had been around since the founding of Cooper Pedy. Perhaps it stretched out further than that, but as far as the current owner, Brendon Buchanan, was aware, that was all that he needed to know about its history. He was a grumpy fellow, frown creases on his forehead made stronger by the lack of hair. His once bright orange hair had given away to a shiny noggin after an accident out in the opal fields, where he also lost one nostril. As soon as he had gotten accepted into Jabring, only two days after he finished high school, he barricaded himself deep underground, only having seen the surface once in the past five years.

Brendon also knew who exactly he was expecting for customers. As soon as he peaked through the employee only door he scowled at the two abbos stumbling around his store. _No doubt stealing_ , he grumbled, a tone of resignation in his thoughts, as if he couldn’t think of any other reason why they were down here. He threw open the door, satisfied when the two women jumped when the handle landed solidly on the rock walls.

“Wha the _blasting hell_ are you two doing down ‘ere?” Brendon flicked his wand slightly, an unseen wall of protection establishing itself around the wands. The youngsta gripped her mother’s arm tightly, no doubt scared that they were going to be caught –

And then his mind registered who exactly was the older women.

“You’re Jenny, aint yae?” he summons a chair under himself, collapsing back into it. His mind was now carefully blank, racist thoughts now silent once he recognised the woman from his school. “Coupla years younga than mae?”

“Brendon,” she blinked, eyebrows quirked up in shock before she steadied her face. “Nobody said I would see _you_ here.”

Aye, wasn’t that a reaction, Brendon thought sourly. He wondered what his younger self was like – memories faded when you barricaded yourself deep underground – was he annoying? Did he seem to have potential? Was it likely anyone thought he would become the next seller of Jabring?

(It wasn’t any of that – in fact, Jenny was simply remembering how bare-faced racist he was, and was cautious as to how he was today)

“Well it be that way som-times.” He crossed his arms over his pot belly, squinting at the face he had never thought to see down here. “Well?”

Jenny sent him a quizzical look.

“Why _you_ here?” he placed the exact same tone on the you as she had done, and then eyed the little brat that was still ghosting her step. Shouldn’t she be taught the mystical black fella hocus pocus?

He voiced his thoughts. Jenny replied, voice stone calm despite the hostile aura he was projecting.

“The Sacred has disappeared, so we’re sending her to Hogwarts. They require a wand, so we’re here to get Eleonor one.” Jenny pats her child on the back once, before landing her hand squarely on her shoulder to draw her back behind her legs.

Brendon eyed the little squirt, noticing the bags of books from the bookstore that was supposed be down the street from the entrance. One half of him guessed that they had stolen them, but the other half was more interested that they were going to send her to _Hogwarts,_ the school his parents had gone to.

It took a few seconds, but inexplicably, his mind came to agree that this was a good thing. _Eradicate the blackness from her._ He nodded to himself. _A good method._

“Alright then,” He waved his own wand and a stack of boxes withdrew themselves from the stacks effortlessly. “Let’s get you started, aye?” he grinned, and winked.

“Don’t you _dare_ give her any phony wands _Brendon_. She will get the wand that is  _suited_ for her.” Jenny’s voice pierced the air between them, her eyes unflinchingly holding his own.

He frowned.

His frown vanished. He flicked his wand and some of the wands in the pile was replaced by ones closer to himself.

“Well?” he demanded when neither of them moved. “I ain’t gonna wait all dae.”

The little brat inched forward, taking grasp of the closest wand to her. She turned her hand over, and a little pitiful glow sparks at the end of the wand. She drops it into the casing like it had grown too hot, bringing her hand back into her chest, staring at the wand fearfully.

“Jenny,” she whispers. “That felt really weird. It _yanked_ on my magic.”

“Give it a go. Don’t try to control your magic this time.”

Her child gave her a look and reached out to take a different wand. This time when she waved it, a flurry of round lights sprouted from the tip, hanging in the air for just a few moments before fading. Despite what Brendon wanted, his mind raced with calculations. As biased he was, he knew his stuff.

“Try this wand.” He mumbled, raising the box holding the wand with his own. Gingerly, she slipped it out. When she waved it, the bookshelves of wands behind the desk exploded, boxes flying everywhere. _God damn it_ , he thought, mind too in the zone to begin with the hatful comments, _not the paperbark tree, obviously._

It took several tries, and a lot of quick repair spells on behalf of both Jenny and Brendon, before he had to surrender one of his best wands to the black child. Gritting his teeth, he held it out to her and not a moment too soon. This time warm fireworks burst around her, following the tip of her wand. She laughed, spinning to watch the personal show her wand was holding. Brendon couldn’t help but smile.

He dropped it, and walked over to the check out, pulling out the EFTPOS machine. Typically, cheaper wands cost $50, and more expensive ones topped around $150; but Jenny just _had_ to get on his bad side.

“That’ll be $200.” He smirked, punching in the numbers with certainty. The girl paused, looking up to her mother, wand hand slowly lowering in disbelief. Jenny didn’t even let her face twitch, simply holding out her card that she had prepared earlier. _Should’ve raised it_. Brendon grumbled, but nevertheless continued the transaction.

Jenny swept the child out quickly as soon as she had plucked the receipt from his hands. He leaned backwards into his chair, satisfied with the quick earnings of today. Scammed a bastard _and_ had given an abbo child a chance to improve their lifestyle.

Proud of his actions, Brendon retreated into the depths of his cave.

2

_There!_ Eleonor zeroed onto the familiar white blond hair tied up into a wiry ponytail. She stepped of the escalator, discreetly looking around. Eleonor stayed where she was, willing for the girl to turn around and spot her at the Gloria Jeans. _Come on, come on…_

Eleonor’s leg bounced up and down, her thigh beating a dent into the chairs. She willed herself not to look away to the cup grasped in both hands, eyes slightly bulging as Stephanie took a few steps to allow people behind her through. If it wasn’t for Hogwarts, Eleonor wouldn’t have approached Stephanie; she was one of the white girls, the ones with the strict mothers who forced their children into some form of dancing. Her mum always wore a pinched face when Eleonor was around. It was never clear if that was her usual face or Eleonor had offended her.

Stephanie finally turned her head in Eleonor’s direction, to which her hand shot up immediately, waving wildly. The skinny pale girl beams when her eyes land on Eleonor and flounces over, her ballet training no doubt coming through. Her effortless grace was hindered by the beginning of Dutch genes though; her arms were twice as long as they were skinny; Eleonor could easily grasp her wrist with her whole hand.

“Eleonor!” Stephanie beamed as she slid into the seat beside her. Eleonor wordlessly slid over her iced chocolate for her to try, and began talking.

“Jenny took me to Avenue and you’ll never guess what I got?”

“A wand?” Stephanie hazardly guessed, sipping on the straw.

“Well, that too. But she got me a bubble dragon as a graduation gift!” Eleonor beamed, not fazed at all when Stephanie remained indifferent. To her credit, she gave a polite smile.

“Sounds amazing Eleonor.” She paused, looking slightly guilty. “You know how I asked if I could go to Hogwarts? Mum said no.”

Eleonor felt her stomach drop. She had been holding onto a wish that Stephanie’s mum would allow her to go to Hogwarts together; during the few weeks Eleonor had been interacting with Stephanie they had bonded quickly over their mutual magical ability, happy to talk about it with someone who understood. Eleonor also had started to talking to Stephanie’s friends, something that was a warm welcome. She was normally shoved aside to talk to the other Indigenous children – while no doubt each of them was a delight to talk to, they just weren’t on friendship level.

And now Eleonor would be going to Hogwarts by herself.

“She said she would look into the French school. Beau-Beauxbatons, I think?” Stephanie mumbled the name under her breath again. “Mummy said she didn’t like how… uncultured Hogwarts is.” She winced, and Eleonor shrugged it off.

“You’re forced to take ballet, so I wouldn’t expect less.”

“Don’t tell mummy, but… I think I like hip hop better.” Stephanie tugged on her ballerina bun, scanning the escalator for her mum. Eleonor blinked.

“That’s… really cool. At least with your previous experience you’d be a bit ahead.” Eleonor smiled, and Stephanie looked grateful. “Hey, seeing as I have a wand, do you want to come and practice with me?”

Stephanie looked curious but cautious. She drained the last of the drink, and set it aside for the bin.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” she admitted, looking around the shopping centre. “What a _bad_ influence you are Eleonor, making me sneak away from home. My parents aren’t there but they’ll lose their heads when they realise I’m not home.” Eleonor shrugged; distance wasn’t any worry for her, now that she had experience transporting herself across continents.

“When do your parents get home?”

“At 6.” It was 4:47pm.

“Fantastic.” She grinned, picking up the cup and throwing it in the bin. Eleonor stood, waving Stephanie over. “I’ll get you home with time to spare.”

“We don’t have a Floo.” Stephanie mutters.

Eleonor waves off her concerns, trying to focus on her excitement – she was about to show Stephanie the amazing teleporting ability that was only for Aboriginal cultures. But her mind kept returning to the new development: she was going to Hogwarts, alone. A dark skinned child in the seas of white British kids; ever since she had said she was going to Britain for schooling Eleonor was serenaded with stories about the pommies, both good and bad, from magical and not. There was so many that she didn’t even know where to start identifying them, let alone disregarding them as false. Besides, Jenny said you don’t realise how Australian something is until you leave the country, and she had also been told stories about culture shock.

The words bounced around her skull until she realised they had been walking outside the shopping centre for a while. She turned to a curious Stephanie, holding out her hand like she was asking her to a fancy British ball.

“Do you want to see something cool?”

3

Studying with Stephanie amounted to nothing but trying out spells that they had found in the textbooks Eleonor had purchased. It was fun, nevertheless, to flick through the pages, oohing and aahhing over the colourful and expressive hand-drawn pictures. Stephanie had given a spare match a silvery glean, and Eleonor already knew the Care for Magical Creatures off by heart – not by memorisation, but by previous knowledge.

“That’s impressive,” Stephanie admitted when she lowered the book in her hand, the illustration of a graphorn disappearing. “You knew everything.”

“Your dancing is impressive,” she replied, picking up the silvery match. “ _This_ is the coolest. All I can do is my traditional magic.” Stephanie perked up at her words, staring up at the little balls of lights floating around them. Eleonor’s room was a little dark with the curtains closed, so she called forth little fairy lights, five tiny bubbles that radiated light as they bounced around near the roof.

“Traditional magic is different from this though.” Eleonor closed her hands together like she was holding an insect between her palms. “I just have to think about creating it, and it happens. It’s different for everyone. Jenny makes her light so it doesn’t look like it has a source.” She opened her hands, a singular butterfly calmly flapping its wings. _Go to Stephanie_. The butterfly lifts off, fluttering around Stephanie’s head until it burst into a small firework.

“It relies heavily on imagination.”

“My parents wouldn’t be able to do it then,” Stephanie mutters and giggles. She looked at her watch and gasped. “It’s already five forty-three!”

Eleonor’s shoulders dropped. “Damn,” she stood, closing the books with her feet. “Guess I’ll take you back home.”

Stephanie smiles, nevertheless, and takes one hand. Together they take a step and the world around them switches to Stephanie’s room.

“I won’t be able to do this tomorrow. Ballet practice is on Wednesday arvo.”

“Alright then,” Eleonor shrugged, giving her a wave. “See ya.”

She took a step back and found herself back in her room; her fairy lights were still floating although now they had dimmed to her favourite flickering candle setting, settling right over the open books. Eleonor reaches down to pick up the charms book, the light attached to it following the pages.

The spells were some things Eleonor had been able to do since she was nine; hair colour change, floatation, tap dancing, and more. She called forth the Transfiguration book with her magic, the book silently floating off the floor to land in her palm. These spells, she found out as she flicked through them, weren’t anything she had seen. But why would she want to turn a match into a needle, when she could at least summon it from the sewing room, never mind just creating it out of nothing?

She flicked the book over to the last pages, ignoring the references and index page. This part was the extension work, although the little paragraph assured the reader that the spells would be in future volumes. Again, there were some spells that were pretty random (turning a beetle into a button) but with her traditional magic, all these spells were useless for Eleonor.

So she decided to ask Jenny.

Jenny picked up the call after three rings, and answered it with a classic “yeah?”

“Jenny, I have a question ‘bout British magic.” She promptly asked, flicking through the pages of the transfiguration book, eyes not really seeing the words. “You free?”

“It’s like six in the arvo. Of course, I’m free!”

Eleonor took a breath and explained her findings, reading from the textbook about all kinds of funky but kind of useless spells. Once she fell silent, Jenny simply hummed.

“Aw mate,” Jenny’s light laugh reached over the phone. “Gimme a sec, the answer’s a little ambiguous.” Eleonor set her phone on speaker mode, opening up the internet app and searching fairies. Stephanie calling her lights fairy lights had given her an idea, and there was no best time to experiment but now.

She was half way through manipulating the design of the fairy’s wings – her base template Tinkerbell of course – when Jenny spoke up again.

“Aye sorry I had ta go speak to someone else. Anyway, what I think you’re aiming at is why should you learn all these spells with a wand when you can already cast ‘em, yeah?”

Eleonor gave a half-verbal affirmation.

“Well, Jean from across tha road – she got some pommie blood – said the first few years of schooling it for setting the foundation. As the years go by it gets more complex, and it definitely builds on what you’ve learnt before. Bit like maths, aye? Jean said to excel, ya need ta focus for the first three years. Of course don’t believe that everything from there will be smooth sailing, ya still need to focus, but to really excel, tha first three years are very important.”

Eleonor stopped messing around with the fairy, flicking through the textbook resting on her knees. She couldn’t see where these lead, seeing as she only had the first book, but her imagination went wild with wonder.

“Thanks for tha,” Eleonor absentmindedly said to the phone, tapping end call once she had said ta-ta, throwing her phone to the side, returning to the textbook. What could transfiguration be built on? After rats to teacups, what would be next? Peacocks to teapots? Owl to bird cage? A _dragon_ into a _house_? She thought back to the charms book. Instead of just _conjuring_ water, she could summon a waterfall?

In traditional magic, imagination was the limit. The more you learnt about science, the harder it was to justify yourself that you _could_ summon fire unless special training was done. But with British magic, the justification was done with words and wand movement.

Combine traditional _and_ British and you’d get… something bigger than anyone else had put together.

Eleonor found her eyes straying to the half formed fairy light. Its friends floated around it, twitching and spinning like something alive would do. She focused her brain power toward the lights and thought _you are now fairies. Shape yourself and behave like one._

All of them, including the one she had tried to manually do, sprang into action. Tiny heads too small for detail sprouted from a small torso, toothpick thin limbs growing out of the white sundress. Wings, thinner than paper, appeared from the nothing, looking strikingly like dragonfly wings. Tiny veins of light pulsated as the chattering of fairies gathered themselves. The one looking over the transfiguration book reached down to seemingly touch the pages.

Eleonor had done this before; it’s how she could create the low lit candle effect. She saw Jenny do it, making light appear from nowhere. She saw her parents do it, little halos of light that hung above their heads as they hunted.

It was only now she saw the potential of traditional magic. Perhaps it was the limits of British magic, the concrete words and wand movement, or Stephanie’s wonder at the little balls of light.

 _If I want to combine Aboriginal magic and British magic I need to be on top of my game,_ she fiercely thought, mind racing with thoughts _I need to keep my mind open to my imagination but still have complete control of British magic._

Eleonor watched as the fairies perched on her hands and arms; her sense of touch could register nothing, but her sight told her something else.

She needed to study.

4

The wand felt alien in her hands. The wood was too smooth to be wild but it didn’t have the polish like normal wooden objects. It had no knots, bulbs, cracks, carvings, engravings or anything the other wands she tried out. In the end, it was just a straight, smooth stick, one end just a touch thinner.

The woman teaching her the basics of British magic was intrigued to learn that this was the first time Eleonor was seeing a wand.

“Other cultures have other mediums, of course.” She nodded, adjusting her robes a little wider. “A little hot, isn’t it?”

 _Actually_ , Eleonor thought, _this is really nice._

“Ancient tribes in Africa sometimes use staffs imbedded with a large stone – a focus, of sorts – and quite a lot of Asian tribes still use wandless chants. Calling on the gods’ power, as they used to say.” The lady winked and laughed and right then and there Eleonor decided that this lady was quite rude. There was quite a lot of thought and history behind Japan’s traditional magical arts that was too complex to be limited to ‘praying to Shinto gods.’

Eleonor dropped her gaze to the books on the desk, freshly brought from Daigon Ally. There were several books, about six in total. The teacher had pulled one forward, claiming it was the book for Charms. Eleonor flipped the cover open, thumb sliding under the first few pages to skip the intro.

“…and I’ve been meaning to ask, what medium do Australians use?” Eleonor quickly glanced up to the teacher and resisted the urge to raise her hand to touch her ear.

“…um, typically we just use whatever heritage we identify as. I only know a few other magicals and they’re Arabic, Norwegian, Taiwanese, and South African. They just use whatever their parents use.” The witch pauses, nods and moves on without complaint – Eleonor is just relieved that she’s doesn’t question what _Eleonor_ uses.

“British magicals use wands, and we call on the power inside us using select words that have been discovered and invented for thousands of years. Most of them are of Latin origin, although the British _are_ known for stealing French, German and other European words!”

The woman takes up her own wand, left sitting on the table and points it to the charms book Eleonor was flicking through. “For example, _wingardium leviosa.”_ The book gently rises from the table, wobbling in its flight. Truthfully, Eleonor learned a spell like that when she was _two_ , and by now she could control it _far_ better than this witch could ever hope for.

The book falls back onto the table with a loud thump, landing in such a way that the papers crumpled. Yeah, Eleonor could’ve done so much better.

“Pick up your wand,” the witch says, and Eleonor cautiously picks it up, awkwardly adjusting it in her hand as she waits for more instructions. The witch blinks before making a ‘shoo’ motion. “Go on, try the spell!”

“…You’re not gonna teach me how to properly hold a wand? How to care for it? Are there any _rules_?”

“No?”

Glumly, Eleonor blankly stared at the book. She went over her memories, trying to remember the exact wand formation the witch had used. Carefully, she swished her wand.

“Wind-ga-di-yum levi-OHHHH-sarrrrrrrrrr.”

Something reached through her wand arm, and _yanked_. A bright burst of colour exploded from the wand tip, hurtling towards the book. _Oh whoops,_ Eleonor belatedly thought _her spell didn’t have any flashy colours!_

The book _rocketed_ , flinging itself up from the table and straight into the ceiling, the loud BANG being followed by the sounds of the roof caving in. Eleonor stared open-mouthed, heart in throat, as the hole in the ceiling flaked a few shards of paint.

The witch, on the other hand, looked like she was about to faint, eyes almost hilariously wide and body almost comatose.

Slowly, her body seemed to regain life. When she spoke, it seemed to lose its airy-fairy feel, voice now hard as steel.

“This… is going to be a lot harder than I thought.” She glumly sighs. She waved her wand and the ceiling sprung back together, the last crack disappearing like a finger was smoothing over clay on the ceiling. That was… something _new_. Eleonor hadn’t seen any spell like that, even when she went on a day trip to Freda and Alastair’s just yesterday. While she could replicate something _like_ this, it required a fundamental understanding of the item in repair. Eleonor was pretty sure the witch did not know how this building was constructed.

This was the little hint of what British magic could do. The thought of this spurred Eleonor into her lesson and deep into the afternoon, long after the witch had left. Nobody was home yet, as both Eleonor’s parents were on a trip with Jenny; the house was silent until at least midnight. She occupied her time by reading through her books and trying out the spells the teacher had set. She was a good teacher, despite the rude comments about other societies.

Her phone lit up around nine o’clock in the evening, and the sight of the time spurred a little idea. It would only be, say, around midday in London right now, right? Incredibly, the tiny thought inside her brain blew up with every second. There was nothing stopping her. Only her magic.

Eleonor threw in some of the British magical currency Jenny had, about ten gold coins, into the little pocket of her backpack. In went her phone, her earphones, a water bottle, a few snacks (mostly lollies), and her keys. She would be back no later than 11pm, and half of the items in the backpack wouldn’t be warranted, but having an almost empty bag felt weird against her back.

Her magic swirled around her, ready since she began to think about her journey. It would take quite a lot of magic to transport herself across the globe, but nevertheless she carefully crafted her magic until she was sure a portal to Diagon Ally was literally a step away.

She took a step, not breaking her stride; it took just a fractional longer to cross. Conversations cut into her ears, a sudden change from the silent house. Thickened accents were something that Eleonor seldom interacted with, much less in their native country. To hear English pronounced so differently than the way Eleonor always used to was something akin to culture shock; she opened her eyes to find herself in a side alleyway, just next to the pub her and Jenny had met Mr Dumbledore in.

As she strode towards the opening of the ally, the voices grew louder and louder; when she stepped out onto Diagon Ally, two loud Englishmen passed right by, accents thicker than a dragon’s hide. Eleonor watched them go by, eyes wide.

“An’ aye told ‘im, fok off with ye fokin’ pumpkyins, aye dun wan em!” the other man shook his head in disbelief, but before he could agree they had passed on. Eleonor took a deep breath as she took out two of the sandwiches in her bag – she had used so much magic she was _starving ­_ – and joined the flow of the people around her.

The last time she was here the street was just as congested but also not as crazy. People still filled the tiny cobblestone street like it was as big as a shopping centre, but the windows of the shops weren’t as filled with promotions and deals for the new school year. While there was still _one of a kind_ and _you won’t believe your eyes_ posters painted onto the glass, the advertisements didn’t shift every second to include more sale details.

Eleonor hadn’t realised how far she had walked until she passed Olivander’s wand. The sight of the wands on the ancient pillows brought her back to Jabring. The thought of that place brought up the memory of the owner and she felt a little sick. Before she knew it she was up the stairs, peaking at the little windows. The glass was so filthy Eleonor could barely make out the purple cushions, a thin strip across the top far darker than the surrounding fabric as if something protected that strip from the sun’s rays.

She was still standing on the doorstep to Olivander’s, the weak watery sunlight of the UK barely registering to her Australian senses. Eleonor began to shiver immediately; visiting in the summer gave her no indication of how cold Britain could be. The lightest gust in July reminded her of winter back home – of the coldest, darkest nights, when she woke up halfway through the night because she accidentally kicked off the bed covers.

Now? The air had a frigid touch, and standing slightly above the flow of people exposed her to the harsh wind. Exposed skin went numb; her bare legs quivered in her boots, and Eleonor was so frozen stiff that it took an effort to step down from the raised platform into the swarming mass of heated bodies. Even with strangers pressed against her skin Eleonor still felt the icy grip wrapping around her body, slowly seeping down to the depths of her soul…

Eleonor’s magic roared into life, wrapping the strongest heating spell it could cast, overpowering the natural cold until she was sweating like she was in a desert. Quickly she latched onto her magic, snatching the reins of the spell until she had them grasped in her hand, hauling in the heat. Soon enough, she felt the unbearable heat melt away, the cold British gale turned into a cool summer breeze. Eleonor hurriedly stumbled over to the side of the Ally, resting a hand on the bone-chillingly cold bricks and quickly doubled over. Her head spun as all she could hear was the harsh pants falling out of her mouth.

Cursing, Eleonor rummaged around her bag to find her water bottle, tipping her head back so she could squirt water directly into her mouth. This was evidence that Eleonor was still a child; having no control over her magic and having it react so strongly was a sign of immatureness. She had a lot of self-control to attain before she could get her second piercing.

She dropped her head and immediately came into eye contact with a red-haired boy. His hair was in disarray and his face was awash with freckles; he wore bland clothes, a brown woollen vest over a crisp but worn button up.

“You alright?” he asked, and Eleonor waved him away, taking another swig of her water bottle.

“’m fine,” she coughed, body still on alert from such high temperatures. Her forehead was awash with little beads of sweat. “Justa lost control of ma magic.”

“Oh!” he stepped back, probably because of her thick accent. “You just suddenly went really hot. As in, heat.”

“Yeah, I know. I forgot ta cast a heating spell.”

“You cast a _spell?_ Aren’t you too young?”

“British rules don’t apply ta me. I’m ‘stralian.” She took one last big breath, the last sign of the fiasco vanishing once she got control of her lungs. The boy took a look of ‘ _oh_.’

“Australian? How did you get here?”

“Magic.” She shrugged. The boy made a face at her but quickly joined her steps as she took off, diving back into the stream of foot traffic.

“What are you here for?”

“What are _you_ here for?”

“Shopping?”

“Wow! What a coincidence. Same!”

Eleonor paused upon seeing a store just for animals across the road. She shot the boy who was following her a look, contemplating whether or not to leave him there. Well – he could become a friend.

“Do you wanna go?” she motioned towards the shop, only now seeing the name of the shop engraved in a massive panel across its forefront: Magical Menagerie. “What kind of animals do you have here?”

“Uh, you’d better ask my brother -” the last of his sentence was cut off as soon as Eleonor cut across the flow of walkers. Thankfully the rush seemed to be lessening, the streets of magical London no longer so crowded. But lesser bodies meant lesser windbreakers; before Eleonor could walk through the wooden doors of the Menagerie she could feel the cold fingers of winter once more grazing the back of her neck. Just to be sure, she turned up the heat of her spell just a few notches.

The first landing was filled with commercial products for all sorts of pet requirements and luxuries. Eleonor was amused and intrigued by the type of art and design all of them shared, but she breezed by them. To her horror, she discovered animals forced into rows of cages – cats, toads, crabs, snails, and more – most of them too small for them.

The cats snarled as Eleonor backed away – she couldn’t handle this. This was more of a situation for Jenny, a person who could stand up to defend poor creatures like these. With a little shame held in her heart, Eleonor retraced her steps to the first landing. The red-haired boy had just popped through the door; she snatched his arm and dragged him out the door.

“That place is horrifying.” She snapped at him. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Eleonor continued on.

“Can’t believe they let them live in such tiny cages! What monstrosity…”

Outside the street held groups of conversing wizards and witches; their tall pointy hats bobbed and twisted whenever someone talked; their long majestic robes airily draped along the ground, refusing to crumple at their feet. One half of Eleonor thought they looked ridiculous while the other half was curious about their fashion. She nudged the boy that was following her.

“Why do they wear those?” she gestured to the closest lot to them at his questioning look. “To be frank, they look a bit out of place.” The boy stared long and hard at them, getting more confused with every second.

“The clothes! Ya know, the capes, the pointy hats, yeah?”

“Oh, robes.” This time, he gave her a look. “They don’t have them in Australia?”

“ _No._ ” she scoffed. The long thick fabric would be too much for the heat. She voiced her thoughts.

“Well – it’s the traditional clothes. Today with the influence of muggle-borns we’re a little more used to clothes like what we’re wearing. The wealthy and the older generation, on the other hand, don’t like this, and always wear robes. So I guess it’s a sign of money now.” He shrugged, suddenly mollified, picking at his vest.

“They look weird,” Eleonor said. “I prefer your Sunday church boy look than _that_.” He shot Eleonor a smile. They started to walk again, passing shops steadily.

“What’s your name?”

“Eleonor,” she said, running a hand against a ghastly dirty glass window; she could make out books and quills and all sorts of quirky writing utensils that you would expect to see in an antique shop. Eleonor quickly sidestepped into the store, the door propped open with a stack of books. She immediately went straight for the empty books but was sidetracked by the range of quills.

As expected, the boy was there, by her side.

“I’m Percy Weasley.” He held out his hand. Slightly confused, she took it, and immediately snatched back her hand to run them over the fancy feathers. “Are you shopping for school? What school do you go to?”

“Nah, I’d rather not spend -” she checked the price and quickly rounded it off to dollars “ _fifteen dollars_! for a quill. _Jesus Christ!”_ Eleonor dropped the quill back into a box with its brethren and wondered over to the wall filled with cylinders.

“What are these?”

“Parchments?” Percy answered, sounding a little unsure for someone who was born in this society. Eleonor picked up the scrolls, feeling the roughness and thickness from just a touch. She dropped them like fire, disgusted by its texture. It felt too leathery for her tastes.

The shop – Scribbulus – was the British Wizard version of Typo. The architecture was wonky but cute, wooden shelves overfilled but artistic, the lighting dark but perfect. This British aesthetic was something she had previously thought only to be seen in film and magazines – settings manufactured by interior designers, furniture carefully selected from overseas, quirky tabletop embellishments that were one-of-a-kind. It was strange… it never occurred to Eleonor that Australia and Britain could be so different.

Eleonor was just sliding a book back into the shelf when Percy stepped around from the next aisle over; he had a book in each hand and was babbling something fierce. Eleonor had explained her schooling impediment, and he was elastic to know she was coming to Hogwarts.

“You’ll be in my brothers’ grade then,” he smiled, his lips pulling back to show his gums. Percy then rubbed the back of his neck, a display of self-embarrassment. “Don’t tell them you’re friends with me… they don’t like me very much.”

“Have you already gotten your school books?” Percy questions now, peering over a set of reading glasses. They were old and bulky, looking like they were the old 80s aviator glasses with shielding on the side of them. Percy looked a little ashamed when he pulled them out.

“Yes,” Eleonor nodded, remembering her mum grumbling over the short-life span of their use. “Although I wish I coulda get it on ma laptop.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.” If there was one thing Jenny had made clear through her ramblings of British witches and wizards was the lack of technology they used. She had also mentioned that if Eleonor wanted to take electronics with her to Hogwarts then an Arab needed to ward it.

Thinking of Jenny made her realise she had forgotten to watch the time. With a curse, she pulled out her phone and was shocked to see that it was almost her deadline of 11pm.

“I have ta go,” she firmly said, turning to Percy. He sharply looked up from his book, startled by her abrupt words. “See ya at Hogswash Percy.”

“Alright then,” he said, and held out his hand again. “Nice to meet you Eleonor.” He smiled, shaking Eleonor’s hand with vigour. His lips peeled back to reveal a small tooth jutting out from the otherwise straight line of teeth.

Eleonor took to the streets, sliding down the first side street she could find. Without missing a step in her stride she called upon her magic and focused on visualising her room, fairy lights still dancing around the room. She blinked, and her knees slammed straight into her bed, she collapsed onto her bed, face and book edges coming together painfully.

She let out a groan and rolled off her bed onto the floor. Perhaps that wasn’t a cool as she thought it would be.

Laughing at herself, Eleonor slipped her backpack off, no heavier than it was when she left, and heaved herself up, ready to welcome her parents home.


	4. Chapter 4

1

If it wasn’t her slightly bruised knee and the single crease on one page of her History textbook, her trip to Britain last night felt like a dream. There weren’t any souvenirs as she didn’t buy anything, and she didn’t dare use her phone to take photos just in case her parents looked through her phone and discovered that she had left the country without letting anyone know. The only personal differences were the colourful shops flashing in her mind and the unconscious rapid blinking to ward off sleep. Eleonor was used to lack of sleep, as she was a young teenager, ready to pull all-nighters for school.

The morning passed in a blur, comprised of Eleonor running around with Stephanie and them practicing their spells. There weren’t any improvements, other than the deepening of their friendship and their knowledge of Stephanie’s new school. Beauxbatons was a French school, abet one that offered English classes, and boasted advanced classes, impeccable etiquette, and enough fancy language that it made Eleonor’s head swim. All Stephanie had to say, in a small, dismayed voice, was “I don’t even _know_ French!” Stephanie felt like she should at least know some words in preparation, and soon enough they found a few websites that offered some vocab. Stephanie also found a grammar page, but the gendered nouns made no sense to Eleonor, so she left Stephanie alone.

Watching Stephanie play around on her laptop reminded Eleonor of when she was rummaging through her bag and Percy caught sight of her phone. After the initial “What’s that?” “What’s what?” “ _That.”_ “ _What?”_ she pulled out her phone and allowed Percy to play around with it. She learnt two things in that moment, something that should’ve been insignificant against everything else Eleonor learnt last night.

  1. British wizards were still stuck in the turn of the century. As in, 1900s. No technology beyond a few radios and a few hygienic tools. Percy explained that his dad was extremely interested in technology, and that was the only reason he knew so much.
  2. Electronics apparently did not work at Hogwarts. The magic was too thick for technology to work, and it was also true for many other places.



As she thought over the conversation with Percy, she was struck with a thought.

“Stephanie,” she called her friend, “do you know what a ‘muggle’ is?” She stared at Eleonor for a few seconds, tilting her head slightly.

“It’s an old way of calling a non-magical. My grandma would call all our classmates muggles. She’s British, so I guess they would still use that word at Hogwarts?”

In her mind, several conversations slotted into place. Even prior to her letter from Hogwarts she had heard the word muggle before, from elderly white people. If she was being honest, it sounded slightly offensive.

She considered this as she slid her hand under her pillow and pulled out her worn phone. It was worn, several versions old and lacked any texting and phoning ability. For Eleonor it was simply a music device, and if Percy was correct then electronics couldn’t work at Hogwarts. _Tedious_ , Eleonor declared, pulling over her laptop.

“How do you _ward_ electronics against magic?”

Stephanie was absorbed into her book again, leaving Eleonor to quietly speculate by herself until her head snapped up and considered the question. As an answer, she shrugged. Eleonor sighed in annoyance.

That afternoon, not long after Eleonor closed the front door to Stephanie’s retreating back, she found herself picking up the book Stephanie was so interested in. After a study session with Stephanie, her room always became a hazardous zone with books strewn everywhere and little pieces of paper in varying distances of the bin. It was mostly Eleonor herself who did this, with the occasional book left by Stephanie.

Like this one. Curious, Eleonor flipped it shut and recongised it as the Hogwarts history book. Previously she had waved it off, finding the charms and potions books far more demanding, but after watching Stephanie that entire morning…

She threw it on her bed, dumped the other books on her desk, and followed the history book to her bed in a similar fashion. The book was made in that grimy paper that simultaneously felt like she was holding beaten up book _and_ an antique book; pages caught on her fingers easily, making it hard for Eleonor to flick through the novel in great chunks. She would have to read this normally.

For the most part, it was alright. Like any other book focused on the history of a location, it began with how it was built, and the background of any persons of interests. It discussed how the founders came together and created a pocket of haven against the ‘muggles’ (here Eleonor found it fascinating that an official book used a term that to her, felt casual and colloquial). It explained how over the years the curriculum developed and changed through influence of government, figure heads, teachers, historical events, and headmasters, developing into what it was today. It proudly listed the accomplished ex-students, explaining all their achievements from the previous year all the way to 1500s.

Her mind was still stuck on the sheer amount of names when she flicked the page, and subsequently, a new portion of the book.

This time, it was _about_ Hogwarts, and not in the historical way. It talked about Hogwarts _today_ , the houses, the classes, the timetables, the sleeping arrangements, the holidays, the trips to Hogsmade… Eleonor’s mind stumbled when she read the words _once sorted into houses, students will be assigned sleeping quarters with up to five other same-sex students_. Her imagination, against her will, thrust possible futures into her thoughts, of waking up to see so-and-so had fallen asleep on at their desk, or accidently falling asleep on someone else’s bed only for them to be too tired to complain and ending up sleeping in the same bed. She looked around her room; messy, but organised. Her heart soared with the _possibilities_ , a small, dreamy smile her only outward reaction.

There was other information that excited her as well – the library, the extensive potions cabinet fully stocked for all students, the wide variety of elective subjects in third year and above – but what her mind dwelled on was the prospect of… friends.

She imagined being very shy at the beginning, meeting a lot of people, but through interaction of fellow students in her shared sleeping room allowed her the chance of developing deeper bonds. Bouncing around a few friends before finding that special person that she simply _clicked_ with. Spending time not only seeing them in class, but also hanging out at Hogsmade and weekends.

Eleonor couldn’t really connect with the students at her current school; magic was just too much of her personality that hiding it from someone felt fake. Stephanie was the closest friend she had, and they were still ironing out the wrinkles of new friendships. Friends at Hogwarts, Eleonor hoped, would be better than friends at whatever normal school she could’ve gone to.

A light _click-click-click_ of nails against wood slipped under her closed door, and Eleonor lurched out of bed at the familiar, heart-warming footsteps. _Hogwarts; A History_ was carefully shut, and along with her fever dreams, left on her table, just in time for Eleonor to get to the door as Blackie began to scratch at the door and whine.

She threw open the door and laughed at the delighted faces of the family’s pet, a black-furred domesticated Cerberus, dropping to her knees as he jumped up to greet her. Eleonor buried her hands in his fur, welcoming the kisses from three heads. Blackie had been around since she was five, and lived in several precious memories.

Jenny was not far behind, standing behind the mess of laughter and excited barking, a content smile displayed proudly. She had to use Blackie for a few weeks, his three heads highly useful in the study of magical creatures and tracking down other animals as well. Blackie was highly well trained and as much as it pained Eleonor to not see him for weeks, the benefit of having him left Jenny happy for days.

Halfway through the little reunion, Eleonor thought about the phone in her hand, ready to take selfies and videos of Blackie, and turned to Jenny.

“Do you know how to ward electronics against magic?”

2

The laptop and phone didn’t feel any heavier. In fact, it felt lighter.

“The ward creates a little anti-magical bubble around it. It’s simply a bubble, pushing magic away from it. Unfortunately, this means that you can’t summon or levitate it, so don’t throw magic at it.” The Arabic-Egyptian warding witch explains to Eleonor. She clutches the two objects in her hand, beaming up at the lady. “What magic that does come through, because Hogwarts is so heavily saturated you won’t need to bother with weakening the wards, will charge the battery.”

“ _Thank you so much!”_

3

Her year 7 graduation was months ago, Christmas was just finished, and new year’s was only a day ago and _tomorrow_ Eleonor would be in Britian for the nth time. Her parents were only aware of two visits so far, but Eleonor’s magic had some exercise over the past few months.

She had already bid her parents goodnight, and forced herself to go to bed. There wasn’t anything else to do anyway; all the books were stored in the big bag in the corner of the room, her notebooks shoved into her backpack, and her phone charging across the room.

Yet she clutched her toy rabbit, eyes wide as she stared into the blackness of her room. Blackie was next to her bed, so one hand was resting on top of his left head. Her eyes saw only the abyss, the lack of light giving definition to nothing. Her heart raced, and it wasn’t because of a fear of the dark. It was anticipation of starting a new chapter of life; new country, new school, new grade, and hopefully, new friends. She tried to focus on the prospects of new content to learn, but her mind stubbornly refused to move off the topic of _friends_.

She turned to her side, arms tightening around Bunny, no doubt chocking him. Eleonor had already been let down, her hopes and imaginary future cast aside when Stephanie couldn’t follow her to Hogwarts. She tried desperately hard to focus on the academic side, but without thinking about it she’d slip back into daydreaming about meeting her new roommates.

Here are the things Eleonor was worried about: cultural and academic shock. First was the divide between Britain and Australia, next the divide between a majorly white students and well, herself, and finally the entirely new magical techniques and concepts. Her multitude of teachers had declared her finished for the first year curriculum, and they had started on Year 2 a while ago. Several of the teachers taught her past the first term, so she could easily keep up with her fellow students no matter where they were in the curriculum.

The humidity of north Queensland in summer had finally made itself known, despite the overhead fan being on its strongest setting and all windows and curtains wide open. She kicked off the thin sheet off her legs and onto the floor, spreading out her limbs until there was no skin-on-skin contact.

Eleonor wondered about the weather in Britain. It was cold, she knew, but how far? The last time she had visited Diagon Ally was at the end of UK’s autumn, the harsh winds still lingering on her skin even as she stepped into Australia’s spring, warding against her return. Was winter as intense as home’s summer? Was the bone-deep cold undefeatable like the sweltering weight of heat that pressed against her now? Would she make up for all the lack of layers she wore at home in Britain, sliding jumper after jumper on until she looked like a whale? The little picture offered at autumn gave no answer.

How would she keep warm? The school was in _Scotland_ , so the chances of it snowing shot through the roof. She had never _seen_ snow, never touched it, never walked outside and tasted the snowflakes on her tongue (Eleonor wasn’t sure if people did that, as she had only seen snow in movies and TV shows). Snow was something that was as magical and mystical as the feats done with authentic magic.

She felt herself slip deeper into her snow fantasy, the sounds of Australia – crickets, frogs, wallabies, and finally the rustle of wind through trees – fading away as Eleonor fell asleep.

4

Blackie, _bless her parent’s souls_ , sat next to her mother’s ankles, three heads gleefully grinning at everything, tongues out and drool hitting the pavement in litres. Eleonor had already smothered all three heads with hugs and kisses, but the Cerberus still hadn’t gotten the idea that Eleonor was leaving.

“Shoot us a text as soon as you get to the castle.” Her mum grinned at Eleonor, equally excited as she was. “Take some photos as well, yeah?” Not only was Eleonor’s parents specialised in controlling and eliminating dangerous magical creatures, but both of them were history nuts, appreciating historical buildings to natural formations across the world. Hogwarts was older than any permanent human made structure found in Australia, and was probably in better condition than any historical significant building nation-wide too. It was no wonder why Eleonor’s mother was considering hopping onto the train as well.

Eleonor sneaks a peak at the train, a brilliant deep red framed with smoke, tinted windows marching up and down the sides. The area was loud, full of students making a ruckus as they bid their parents goodbye and said hello to their friends. Occasionally the train tooted, a shrill whistle that broke above everyone’s heads. She turned to her dad.

“Pristin is having a come back tomorrow arvo,” she grinned at his delighted grin. “I add it onto the playlist as soon as Spotify has the new album.” He drew her into a hug, strong arms a small comfort in the cold station. Eleonor gave his pot belly a tight squeeze, giggling along with her mum when her dad ‘oof’ed.

“See you in a coupla months,” her mum said and Eleonor clutched her satchel as tight as the feeling of excitement and anticipation gripped her chest. Quickly, she turned around, pushing her big bag in front of her. There was a little step from the platform to the metal, but other than that she did not have any problems boarding the train.

The inside of the train was brimming with energy, more so than the station. As she pushed her bag along the wooden corridors of the train, sunlight peaked around shades through a marching row of perfectly cut windows with embellished frames on the left with equally elegant doors on the right. There seemed to be three rooms to every carriage, and all of them seemed to be occupied.

 There were other students feeding past her, children with clean uniforms running by and young adults with messy shirts and a cloak over the shoulder calmly walking with friends. They didn’t seem to vibrate if stopped, but their eyes and smile held a spark of glee.

Eleonor walked and walked, so many students passing her that they all blurred together. They didn’t seem to notice her status as a new student; as she weaved around the huddled groups or slipped past other travelling students, they nodded and smiled at her but obviously didn’t recognise her. Despite that, they made no attempt at stopping her.

She stumbled her way through so many carriages that other student’s faces began to blur as well. Greetings were thrown at her left right and centre, and soon enough they rolled off her mind and she repeated it back without thought. There’s a blissfully empty room, void of abandoned belongings, sandwiched between a group of senior students and a mix of students around Eleonor’s age. She shuffles in, and slides her bag under the seats. She slips her satchel over her head as she drops to the cushioned seats.

The train had already begun to move; the last scatterings of houses and shops break the otherwise natural landscape. The vivid green of the British Isles was memorising; Eleonor’s breath was always stolen when she happened to glance out the window.

Finally, she opens her satchel, sliding on her headphones and connecting the cord to her phone. The only space on it was taken up by music, thousands of files cluttering the storage. There was an allowance for credit, but she had a limited amount over six months.

Her photos were to be taken on her camera, a gigantic piece of technology with incredible quality. Her sense of aesthetic was pretty shit, Eleonor knew that, but as she trained the lenses onto the detailed carvings of the door’s frame, she knew that there was going to be plenty of time to practice.


	5. Chapter 5

[1]

The sun had begun to settle behind the horizon, a dim glow behind thick grey clouds, when a knock on the door sounded. Eleonor, with her entire body twisted towards the window, legs stretched out on the cushions in front of her, bag’s contents scattered between her body and the edge of the seat, could not see out to the corridor. Her headphones played music loud enough over the train, and, incidentally, all students.

Behind her door stood Percy, smile as uncertain as his wave. Eleonor slid over her belongings and opened the door with a solid grin.

“G’day,” she waved him in, sliding her headphones down to her neck and shoulders as she returned to her window seat. “How ya find me?”

“I just went looking,” he carefully settled onto the cushions, limbs carefully controlled and neat, unlike the usual sprawl Eleonor was used to seeing. “To be honest, I walked past several times. It was the fellyphone that tipped me off.”

He gestured to the slim phone in her hands, chunky cord connecting it to the headphones. Like Percy, Eleonor had given lots of rooms covert glances, and not once did she spy any technology. Not even a radio, or an old mp3 player.

The lack of screens seemed like a self-centred social media mum without an understanding of generational gaps’ wet dream. She could already see the Facebook campaigns.

“It’s nice to see you again, she pushes her camera case to the corner and settles down properly. “I thought tha run through Diagon Ally was a bit too much.”

“No, it was enlightening!” his face lit up, his hands raising alongside his mood. “I listen to you talk about the differences from Australia, and it was very interesting, so when I went home I asked my parents about Australia and researched it through books as much as possible.”

Books. In the selection available from the international section of Freda and Alastair’s, two thick global studies novels had a small section dedicated towards Australia. As it was a very new country to be colonised, the population was either third and fourth generation European descendants, or first and second gen from Asian countries, mixed in with the original indigenous owners of the land, Aboriginals and Torres-Straight Islanders. There were no Australian genes, there was no Australian style of magic. This was something Percy expressed great interest in.

“I am sad to say that I didn’t realise that not everyone uses a wand as their main magical instrument. I was aware that some native tribes in Africa may use old chants and crude staffs, but I still assumed they too had wands.” Listening to Percy was illuminating. He used negative terms and accidently offended entire cultures with a few words. His educational material was obviously biased, and it showed in how he spoke.

“I know quite a range of magicals, and only two families use the British wands as their foci. There’s Akari, who uses ritualistic dances and chanting to call upon Japanese deities to bless her endeavours, and Yihui who uses blessed instruments to cast spells. Egyptians who still use hieroglyphs, Arabics use a traditional rune system of their alphabet, and several Nordic descendants carry on Viking runes today.” She pulled out her phone from where she sat on it and pulled off the case. “See here? These are Arabic runes to create a no-magic zone around the phone. It can’t defend against a direct spell, but it protects against ambient magic, which is perfect for Hogwarts.”

Percy takes her phone and runs his finger over the lightly carved pictographs, studying them through fat glasses. When he turns it over, his finger hits the home button, the screen lightening up in reply. Eleonor leans over and holds her finger against the home button, unlocking it.

She takes him through a general walkthrough of the phone, but it soon dissolved into her explaining the function of texting and phoning, plus the concept of the internet. Once Percy had gotten his head wrapped around that, she opened a gaming app on her phone, something simple that only required Percy to tap at the screen to make the character move up the screen, and left him to play so she could leave to change into uniform.

The uniform was tailored to fit her, but when Eleonor saw her reflection in the restroom mirror as she washed her it still looked awkward on her frame. To her Australian-self, the full sleeve white button up shirt under a grey vest was extremely fancy and little stuck up. The grey tie did not help.

She also wore a dark black pleated skirt that reached her knees, grey socks pulled up to cover most of her calf, neatly polished black mary janes perfectly fit for her feet. The best piece of her uniform was the cape. It was black, like the rest of the uniform, sat over her shoulders and covered the majority of her torso and arms. There were sleeves, that if she let her arms hang completely covered her hands. The school’s crest was the only splash of colour for the entirety of her uniform. Eleonor felt cheated; her primary school uniform was bright red with blue and white as accents, and now she had to go to _this._

She finds Percy and gives his uniform a look over too; his… has a little more colour. His tie is gold and red; the ends of the cape are striped with the same colours. And instead of the school crest was another crest, depicting a lion. The V of his vest was different again, with two stripes of gold and red sown along the edge.

It must be because Percy was an older student. There wasn’t anyone else to compare to; the train was only half way to Hogwarts, with plenty of time before other students would panic. Eleonor slid back onto her seat and picked up her camera. Percy was still engrossed with her phone, and she’d already exhausted the photo opportunities in the tiny room.

“Hey, I’m going out again. Be back in a bit.” Percy mumbles and rapidly taps at the screen.

She was hanging out a window, half admiring the beautiful scene of luscious green Scotland, half watching it through her camera’s viewfinder, when she’s interrupted by a bang. The wind resistance batters against her magic, leaving her hair, clothes and, most importantly, her camera, alone from its fickle fingers. The two red heads next to her are less than fortunate. Their hair turns into a thousand knots within seconds, and a tie comes up to smack one in the face repeatedly.

“I would say Percy, but there’s two of you.” She blinks, and watches their mouths move. One tries to speak while one reaches out to her hair. Sighing, she takes one look out to the scenery, and ducks back in, calling back her magic. Now that it’s broken, the wind entering through the window begins to play with her hair.

The twins, because there isn’t any other way they weren’t, faired much worse. Both of their ties had broken free of the vest, although Eleonor wasn’t sure if it was because of the wind or they didn’t bother to slide it under. Their cloak sits awkwardly on their shoulders, set askew by the awkward position they leaned out of the window. Thankfully their hair was short enough to avoid the worst of knots, but it still had that wind-swept look, and not the style people sigh over.

“Hello, I’m Eleonor.” She said. “What do you want?”

“Hi! I’m Fred, and he’s George.” One of them greeted; they grinned, and took a theatrical bow, almost bending into two before snapping back up. Their clothes and other adjustable items obviously looked different but their physical features like their facial structure was an exact copy. Eleonor was used to dealing with twins, though and quickly took a snap of their faces to memorise later. To make sure though, she tagged Fred with a tiny drop of her magic. Essentially, to Eleonor she would see a small ear stud of a ship wheel with a small chain holding an anchor; to anybody else there would be nothing. The illusion twinkled in the sunset.

“G’day,” she smiled at them, a little nervous around two boys she had never met before. At least with Percy she was too busy with Diagon Ally to be on edge, but right now she was on a train to her new school. “I’m Eleonor.”

“Nice to meet you!”

“How did you stop the wind?

“What grade are you in?”

“What’s your accent?”

Eleonor watched as an invisible mic passed from proverbial hand to proverbial hand. It was entertaining, to say the least, a little quirk of the two boys that had yet to be proven as annoying or humorous. The barrage of questions is easy to follow at least, and Eleonor answers them quickly.

The twins look curious when Eleonor explains she’s Australian, their faces calling forth a feeling that settled deeply into her chest. Its nature was uncertain, and while it seemed to be nervousness, it had a strong twist that malformed it into something almost unrecognisable. Even as she bids the two goodbye it doesn’t evaporate; students walking past her seem to cox the warped feeling to take a stronger hold.

Percy sits by the window, looking out like she had done when he walked in. She takes a moment to snap a pic, but the sound of the lenses adjusting draws his attention. Caught, Eleonor lowers her camera and opens the door.

“Howdy,” she greets, scooping up her phone that had been left beside her headphones. “I think I met your brothers.”

“Charlie?”

“Nah, Fred and George.” Eleonor slides her camera into the case, watching as the houses they go by switch their lights one. “How many siblings do ya have?” Percy’s shoulders sag, and he explains his family; two older brothers, three younger brothers and the baby sister. Eleonor in turn explains that she was a single child.

“Although,” she tacks on, “I kind of think a family friend as my older sister.” Jenny was that kind of cool older sibling that took you out shopping when mum was too busy. Always around and ready to show Eleonor to some crazy animal. With a light touch of idolism.

“Well,” Percy paused, like he was considering something over. “I’ve got to go back to my own carriage; we’re about an hour from Hogwarts.”

“See ya at school?” Eleonor asks, hopeful. Percy tips his head in agreement, a bashful smile reflecting her desires. “We’ll have different classes and grades, but we can try?”

“Very well,” Percy pushes his glasses, holding out his hand for a shake. Eleonor takes it, quickly dropping his sweaty hand as soon as possible. “See you at school.”

[2]

The station is brilliantly lit by two piercing, footy-stadium level flood lights, the dew on the scarlet train sparkling like LED lights. Other students have flooded the platform, and despite the number of bodies, there is still a constant flow and steady stream of moving students, pouring through iron wrought gates and beyond.

Her bag is still on the train, and despite being reassured by several people that it had to be, Eleonor still felt a sense of stupidity. What if they were lying? What if she did need her baggage? What if her bag was sent back to London, all because she listened to a few students barely older than her? The sea of children before her did not seem to carry anything (not even a small backpack, which was strange) but it did not reassure her.

“Eleonor Yindi!” a voice called, deep but boomed across the tops of students heads. It washed over her, vibrating down to the depths of her bones. A little shaken, Eleonor stands on her tippy toes and tries to spot the speaker.

Her name is called again, and this time she can see the source. The man was tall, and stocky. It was like someone had gotten a bear and turned the outside into a human. They also replaced the muscle with fat, as the pot belly grew more defined as she wondered closer.

“Hello?” she warily called up to him. “I’m Eleonor.” The man beams down at her, almost having to put his chin on his chest to maintain eye contact. His clothes are dirty and dark, hard to make out in the corner he’s placed himself in. In his hand he holds a gasoline lantern, glass dirty and flame barely alive.

“How are ya? I’m Hagrid, Hogwart’s Grounds Keeper.” His voice did not seem to lower in volume, despite having the person he was looking for right in front of him. “The usual induction to the school is typically done with other students, but yer the only person t’ transfer this term.” Hagrid’s hand lands heavily on Eleonor’s back, forcing a breath out.

“Come ‘long, now.” Hagrid lead her to a more out-of-way exit than the iron gates. He had to remove a sign that said ‘Induction Route Only’ and as they walked down Eleonor had to grip the handles to steady her step. The middle of the steps dip down slightly, almost creating a slip slide. The noise of the platform drops away, but even as they reach a lake’s edge there’s still the quiet murmur from them.

By then Hagrid’s lantern is the only light, the flame barely throwing definition onto rows of wooden boats lightly but unwaveringly beating into the shore edge. He sets the lamp onto the biggest boat, a small curved stick at the bow of the boat readily available for the light. As Hagrid settles into the boat, Eleonor takes the neighbouring boat, the wooden structure slightly wobbling from being knocked about by Hagrid’s boat.

Hagrid taps a bright pink umbrella, something that Eleonor couldn’t believe she had missed, against his boat and the two of them begin to move, like an invisible hook was dragging them through the water. The lake was dark, little ribbons of reflection wavering slightly in the silent ripples made by the wooden boats. The surroundings seemed to be the same; monstrous trees with thick foliage, a skirt of water weeds where the lake met the land, all of which was cloaked in mystery by the lack of light.

“Duck, aye?” Hagrid called, pointing his umbrella towards some hanging weeds, parting it in two for him. Eleonor pushed the vines out of the way and realised they had gone under a bridge. A loud rumble passed over them as they exited, and she looked back to see a carriage travelling over the arch.

“Here we go,” Hagrid’s umbrella taps Eleonor’s shoulder, and she turns around to see a castle.

Australia, as a country, is very, very young. Only 200 years ago did the first white settlers land on Botany Bay, and from there, their crusade of pillaging and rape brought many things to the traditional owners of this land, the Indigenous and the Aboriginal, however castles did not make that list.

Eleonor had only seen castles in fairy tales, pictures and through word of mouth. Castles sounded majestic, incredible and amazing, but she had not seen in with her own eyes. The stone building that stood before her, spread across a mountainous range and stretched until the moon slid behind a tower, was the first castle Eleonor had ever seen.

It was brilliantly lit; some towers had little sparks of light, like a shroud of fireflies, while a hall had giant windows that spilled coloured light in every direction. The colours flowed and changed and the lake reflected the stories like a reel.

It was probably unfair on other castles that the first castle Eleonor saw was magical.

A lady, middle aged but going onto elderly, swept down stone stairs carved into the mountain side right as Hagrid helps her out of her boat. She’s wearing those wizard robes, except they’re more sensible; earthy tones, cut above her ankles and no embellished gems.

“Good evening Miss Yindi,” she greets, allowing a few seconds for her to regain her land legs. “I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor, Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Principal. On the behalf of the staff here at Hogwarts, I welcome you to our beloved school. Please, follow me.”

These stairs weren’t much better than the ones she stumbled down on the other side of the lake. These didn’t have handrails, so Eleonor stuck to the ends of each steps, going slowly to ensure her footing wouldn’t slip.

The staircase wasn’t very long, just a minute before they appeared before an obscenely elaborate and ornate double door, two large rings on each side of the split. Mrs McGonagall pulls the left one without fanfare, allowing Eleonor to enter first. Once the door is shut tight, Mrs McGonagall joins her in the middle of the room. There’s other doors leading out of the small hexagonal shaped room, but most of the walls are made up of windows. 

“Hogwarts is a world-wide name and while you are our first international student, I will not show any favouritism. Our school is based on a reward system, where answering questions, being on your best behaviour, completing homework and assignments and other admirable actions will earn points for your house. At the end of the year the house with the most points will win the House Cup.”

Eleonor could hear the muffled sounds of chattering students through one door, but she ignores it and focuses on the teacher, taken by the feather stuck neatly into her tight bun and the rectangle glasses. Everything about her was neat and in-line.

She continued to talk, explaining Hogwarts as if Eleonor hadn’t extensively read the rules and regulation in Hogwarts; A History, although she probably didn’t know that. Soon enough the voices die away, and Mrs McGonagall opens the door that the voices had come through. This was the entrance, an open courtyard with a small covered pathway defining the outskirts. It spread out before a beautiful door at least as tall as any Queenslander house, with the roof extending above it. The building was the centre piece, the eye catcher, and boy, did the decorations live up. There was so many intricacies that Eleonor could stand there for a day and not catch everything. As they walked in, she saw a monkey hidden behind vines, a dragon curled around a campfire while a panicked wizard looked on and god knows what else.

The first thing she noticed in the hall was the momentous amount of candles. They were all cylinder wax candles, a cheery flame burning away at the tip of them all. Beyond the candles was the sky. Eleonor almost said it was open sky except she could find the support beams and iron casts hidden in the clouds. It was really bizarre, but beautiful.

Before here was five tables, four gigantic ones that ran from the entrance to a fleet of stairs on the other side. Here were all the students, magically transported from the station to here. They were still settling down, but as the two of them advanced, they caught more eyes and the students quietened down. The fifth table faced the rest of the hall, able to look to the last student as they were on the raised platform. These were the teachers, as they didn’t wear the dreary uniform, and instead wore the traditional wizard robes.

Mr Dumbledore sat in the grandest chair, a cushiony, gold monster that sat in the middle of the Last Supper table. He smiled down at Eleonor and waved towards Mrs McGonagall, gesturing to a hat before him.

“Students,” Mrs McGonagall calmly says. With the students silent and a resounding spell, her voice was heard clearly, despite her speaking like Eleonor was the only other person in the conversation. “I’d like to introduce a new student from Australia, Eleonor Yindi. She enrolled late so she joins the Second Years. Miss Yindi, please, take a seat. The Sorting Hat will place you in your house.”

The stool is magically there and she takes a seat, staring back to the hundreds of students watching as a dirty hat is placed on her head. It doesn’t cover her eyes, but she tilts her head forward until all she can see is the stairs she walked up.

 _Oh, wow._ A voice speaks inside her head, and she blinks. _This is very rude of me, but could you please speak in English? I haven’t gotten used to your language yet._

Alright then. It wasn’t like she had any control over that, and often enough she reverted back into the language of her heritage inside her head. What did this talking hat want?

 _Just to sort through your thoughts and memories and find out which house would suit you best._ The hat continues, answering Eleonor’s question before it can form in her head _Don’t worry, anything I see is strictly for my knowledge only. I won’t spill a word._

There’s grumblings, humming and small nuggets of consideration and thoughts filtering through her mind, but she politely lets the hat do her job and doesn’t interrupt.

“Gryffindor!” he yells, his voice resounding through the hall, cheering and yelling echoing behind it. Eleonor barely slips a thank you before the hat is lifted off her head and Mrs McGonagall ushers her down to the table next to the right wall. It’s a valorous gold and red, and the design is included down to the last item. From the running, plate mats, utensils and seats, the Gryffindor emblem is etched into everything.

Gosh, Eleonor thinks as she walks down the stairs and watches her school crest change into the Gryffindor crest, this school _really_ takes their houses seriously. There’s a lot of students, but they part and make her a seat easily. Her seat neighbours eye her with interest but other than greeting her they make no move to talk.

Mr Dumbledore begins to speak, his voice a comforting wave.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts! Now, after a day of sitting in the train eating sugary treats, let’s get something heathy!” he claps his hands and before him the table flowers with colour. It takes a second for Eleonor to realise it’s food, something that she only realises when the noise of just over a thousand students chattering floods the hall and she turns back to her table to see a feast decorating the table before her.

Already students are beginning their attack, not only bombarding the food but also Eleonor with questions. It’s overwhelming, but Eleonor begins by focusing on the girl across from her.

“Do you have an accent?” she asks.

“I think all of _you_ have an accent.” Eleonor retorts and makes a mental note not to take a question from her again.

“How old are you?” asks a boy on the aforementioned girl’s left.

“Twelve.”

“Are you _really_ from Australia? Mummy said it’s made up.” Says the first girl, a haughty sniff heard across from the noisy table. The question takes her by surprise and for a moment Eleonor forgets her mum’s rule of no swearing.

“No shit Sherlock, I _am_ Australian. Has your mother stepped outside of Magical Britain? I don’t think so. Otherwise she would know that English convicts _colonised_ Australia.”

“Why skip a grade?”

“The Australian school, The Sacred, is not currently accepting new students on the basis the school grounds have vanished from this reality.”

“Why not start in September?”

“Because I wanted to finish school.”

“What school?”

“Primary school. Don’t you have that here?”

“No. The only school we go to is Hogwarts.”

“How do you learn to _write_? To _spell_?” Eleonor glances at all the faces around her and shudders at the imagination of their writing. She spears her chicken leg with her fork and wrestles with her knife to scrape off the meat. She hasn’t seen anyone use their fingers yet and at that particular moment Eleonor was afraid that doing anything would degrade her into a dirty bogan.

The meal is delicious, but in that vague way that decently made meals were. Nothing special, but certain not unwelcome. For the rest of the night she slowly answers questions by the students around her, of which believed the most ridiculous myths about Australia. It honestly scared her how little these students knew about a country their forefathers stole from Eleonor’s elders.

There was another speech by Mr Dumbledore but Eleonor was tired out and ready to go to bed. Collectively the mass of students rose at some unknown sign and made their way out of the hall. There was a Prefect next to her, calmly explaining several things that Eleonor had already gotten from her various British teachers. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had towers, Hufflepuff and Slytherin were in the dungeons, there’s a password that can change between two weeks to a month, there’s a feudal rivaily between the Gryffindors and Slytherins that has been going on for too long, and she was to room with up to five other girls –

“You’ll have a room to yourself!” the girl grins, like Eleonor is a lottery winner. “The other rooms in your year level are already full, so you’ll have one to yourself.” She gave the Prefect a watery smile as they stood in the middle of the Gryffindor room, hoping to find the advantage the girl was thinking of. Sharing a room with other girls was one way to introduce her into the social circles of this school, and having her around forced the students to interact with her. It wasn’t like the start of Year One, where they were eager to find friends and ready to jump from friend to friend.

Her room is simple, low ceiling hexagonal room with one bed. Her bag is at the base, facing the centre of the room. To the side of it is a desk, complete with a bedside table with two draws. Eleonor carefully sets her backpack on the desk and decides to redesign tomorrow.

She collapses into bed but the moonlight shining through the window is too brilliant. It isn’t until Eleonor has summoned curtains for all the windows is the room plunged into darkness, and she quickly follows, asleep.  


	6. Chapter Six

[1]

If there is one thing that throws Eleonor off, it’s the handshaking.

It took her a while to realise, but for the past few days she had been on edge, like something was just a touch too uncomfortably close. She felt sick, a little shaken up, and it was only in her room that she felt relaxed. The common room was another hurdle to pass.

There’s other culture shocks that range from unsettling to curious to hilarious. At first, the amount of students who were convinced that Australia didn’t exist almost seemed insulting before she found herself laughing at them. Then the dissimilarities in magic; British wizards seemed to think fundamentally different, even when she compared them to the European descendants of Australia. It was very obvious that Eleonor thought of magic different from her peers, but she lacked experience and knowledge to put it in words.

And finally, and certainly the least wanted, was the lack of personal space each and every student shared. When standing in line, Eleonor found herself being jostled and nudged so much she felt overheated. In class, people leaned over her like she wasn’t there. And when walking through traffic, Eleonor often found herself being barrelled over.

All these points seemed to collectively be represented by the handshake. The act is so innocent, just a movement considered by many as manners, but when Eleonor participates in this activity, she feels like she’s being raided by sweaty shaky hands. When the other person pulls Eleonor in… well, it’s just natural to step away, right?

Handshakes, for unknown reasons, shake her to the core. So she begins to ignore them, politely declining and moving on quickly.

This is how it begins.

[2]

On her second day of classes, third day at Hogwarts, Percy guides her to the library.

Libraries in Eleonor’s mind, are shelves that reach maybe two metres. Brightly lit. Neatly organised by Dewy Decimal System. Shelves orderly packed. Hogwart’s library is anything but. It seems like it’s out of a fantasy, like castles. Shelves, tall enough to call for ladders twice as tall as Hagrid, are haphazardly shoved full of books. They’re old, pages loose, covers falling off.

Everything carries the beautiful smell of old books. It’s… calming.

Percy bounces beside her.

“How is it?” he asks, adjusting his own helping of borrowed books. “If you need any help finding a certain book, then Professor Pince can help you. Just make sure to treat the books kindly and turn them in before the due date, and she’ll happily help you.”

“I _love_ it,” she sighs, turning into the closest aisle and running her hand against the rough covers of books, eyes picking up on too many titles to focus.

“Alright then, I’ll go and find help for my astronomy homework.” He gives Eleonor a general guide for second year subjects, and disappears down other aisle. Eleonor finds the potions books first, pulling out a few guides and other titles that interested her, and moved onto find charms. The rows of bookshelves proved a difficult journey for light to navigate, so Eleonor called upon her fairy lights to guide her way.

She finds herself in the grouping of tables, a smattering of round tables and seats in front of a floor to ceiling window. The fairies aren’t of use any more, so they fade away without a word. Eleonor dumps the books onto the table and slowly begins to work her way through the top potions book.

It’s interesting, and reading the words tug at a memory, but she couldn’t place it.

“Looking for the answers for potions’ homework?”

The voice is… urbane. It carries a hint of Walsh accent, and when Eleonor looks up to meet the girl’s eyes, her appearance matches her voice. Dirty blond hair slicked into a pin straight, a small star pin keeping her fringe locked away.  A strong Welsh nose, sharp eyes and thin lips. Her uniform is crisp, clean and proper. Despite the lack of material to work with, she looks regal. Her robes signify she’s Ravenclaw.

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I forgot we had potions homework, hahaha…” Eleonor shyly rubs the back of her head, the girl’s words calling a memory from the day before to the front of her head. “It was about the moonstone, right?” The girl rolls her eyes but seems to straighten further.

“That’s next week. Professor Snape wants a two foot essay on a potion that personally interests you. As a warm up after winter holidays.” She slides into the seat opposite of Eleonor and reaches across the table to offer her hand. “Good afternoon, I’m Tiani Rhydderch.” Eleonor considers ignoring the handshake but with it hovering over the table there’s no way to avoid it. Reluctantly, she takes it.

“Eleonor. Nice t’ meet cha.”

“So _Eleonor,_ ” Tiani elegantly props her head onto her arm, but it doesn’t look as nearly as lazy when Eleonor does it. She’s enamoured. “Does potions interest you?” she looks down at the book, recalling the few words she had read before.

“At the moment? Not really. It’s really dry, and I’m not good at rote memorisation. I _do_ love Care of Magical Creatures, I’ve already read up to fifth grade, and charms sounds fascinating, although currently I can do better than what we’re learning in class.” She lifts a charms textbook off the ground and into her hands with a though, the novel not wavering or faulting in its flight. The levitation charm still has those drawbacks.

Tiani follows the book, but when Eleonor meets her eyes, they aren’t as sharp as before.

“Interesting,” she says, flatly. Eleonor slumps. She had one chance of earning a friend and she blew it. What was wrong with Magical Creatures and Charms? “Eleonor, I need you to answer this question. My friends and I are _extremely_ interested in the answer. Are you pureblood?”

Eleonor looks at Tiani, and she stares back. She suddenly gets very sadistic vibes; the sharp eyes turn into vulture eyes, the neat pin straight now a monstrous hairdo that takes an hour to prepare. Her graceful movements transform into rigid, uptight.

“What’s a _pureblood_?”

In short, Tiani looks like a _bitch_.

[3]

This lesson began with the class finding their seating. Eleonor came in with the rest of the crowd this time, because the Gryffindors had just come from a Potions class with the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs had come inside from Hibology with the Ravenclaws. Her previous places had already been taken, so she slid into a new spot, relatively close to the front. She began to wrestle with her backpack until her Charms textbook and exercise book was out before her. She slid her wand out from her sleeve, setting it neatly on the table.

A simple glance around the classroom showed no Mr Flitwick. It would’ve been a prime chance to whip out her phone but a few years of primary school calmed that want quite easy. While Mr Flitwick was a stranger to technology like her phone, any good teacher could spot a class distraction on sight.

Speaking of class distractions, Eleonor swung her focus around to the twins she met on the train. Fred and George. She could see her little anchor earring stud swinging madly as Fred twisted his head this way and that, looking for two spare seats. The twins were the late comers, always one of the last few students that dragged their sorry arses to class. In classes with more lenient teachers, they came after the bell had rung, overloading on sweetness to avoid consequences.

Mr Flitwick announced his presence as usual, striding out of his office with a stack of papers in his hand. In the other he held his wand, controlling the many more that floated behind him.

“Alright class!” he squeaked, turning up the volume as the class burst into energy, the twins now rushing to find their place and other students ripped through their bags to find rolled up parchment and their textbooks. Along the way quills and ink pots appeared on their desks, withdrawn as they’re discovered. “Mr and Mr Weasley, please sit down.”

Eleonor only noticed that her partner seat was free just as one of the twins slid into the seat. Oh damn, the twins broke up. Furthermore, the ear with the illusion was on the other side. It could be George sitting next to her for all she knew.

“Hey,” she greeted, pulling out the pristine sheets of paper she typed up her homework on. Parchment was too weird for Eleonor so her parents delivered a printer after a few days of arriving at Hogwarts. The twin’s head turned at the greeting, and she caught sight of something silver on his ear. “Fred, right?”

“No, George.” He cheekily grinned. Eleonor shot a confused look over to where the other twin was sitting. From this angle she could clearly the ear the earring was supposed to be. A light laugh brought her back to Fred. “I’m joking. Yeah, I’m Fred.”

Eleonor gave him what she hoped was a slightly annoyed but otherwise fine face, returning back to Mr Flitwick as he began to give a run over the homework he had received. It was on the last spell the rest of her classmates had done before the holidays, a comprehensive history of the height adjustment spell.

Eleonor learnt it several weeks before her classmates did, by her estimation, and found it fun to use when people tried to compare her height to theirs. All it did was stretch out the body comfortably to allow about 5cm extra height. Other than a party trick, it had a rather interesting roll in the history of witch hunts.

This homework was her first assignment so Eleonor went all out. She included a background of the spell, from history to mindset to the person who created the spell. Along her crawl through the library she found some records the creator had written (he also created other spells so his research was highly valued and looked after) and included them into her research. Finally, she began to discuss the spell itself, analysing the words to the movement of the wand. Both paragraphs required some heavy spell theory books that Percy had given her. The essay was concluded with a bibliography.

The result was a decent three pages with another for the bibliography, but her font was relatively smaller than the average size her classmates wrote. Mr Flitwick’s comments ranged from ‘very neat handwriting!!!!’ to more detailed notes on her analysation of her reasoning behind the wand movement. An ‘O’ was proudly printed on the first page, Mr Flitwick’s signature underneath.

This was a very good start. Eleonor wondered if he was going easy because she was the new student or if he was grading her like another student. She also wondered how assignment requirements were like in higher grades. Luckily enough, she was going to meet Percy later on.

“Wow, Yindi, your handwriting is _insane_.” Beside her, Fred’s assignment was spread haphazardly across their joined desk, mixed in with his writing utensils and textbook. Eleonor couldn’t help herself from catching sight of the ‘E’ and several more comments swarming his writing.

“Yindi? Uh, Eleonor, please.” Britain had a strange habit of everyone calling each other by their last name. Even the teachers called students by their last name, tacking on a ‘Miss’ and ‘Mr.’ “And I didn’t write this; I typed it up.”

“ _Typed?”_ Fred rolled the word around on his tongue like it came straight from her native language. “Like, a computer?” Oh, right, the twins and Percy shared a dad. The same dad that was apparently obsessed with ‘muggle’ technology. She nodded and placed her homework in the little box Mr Flitwick was levitating around the classroom. Most of the pieces inside were rolled up, but she caught a piece of paper that was no longer than the distance from her wrist to the tip of her middle finger. She winced.

“Today I would like to give a little throwback to an older lesson. Everyone remember the light spell?” Mr Flitwick’s wrist elegantly does a full turn, his wand completing a circle to point upright, a bright bulb of light gently connected to the tip. Eleonor activates the spell with a small _lumos_ muttered under her breath. The British light spell was extremely restricted to the fairies Eleonor could summon in a second, and she didn’t use it outside of class.

“In a later lesson I will be showing you how to change colours, but to get the principle, we need to learn how to change the colour of this light.” His light begins to fade into a more yellow colour, slowly marching towards orange, then red, then pink. It was memorising, but Eleonor could do that since she was eight.

Mr Flitwick explains the mind trick to changing colours, and set them to changing the colour. Eleonor gets the trick easy, able to switch between colours in snap, but she wanted to do that smooth gradient change that Mr Flitwick had exhibited at the beginning.

“Say, Yindi, can your fairies do that?” Fred nudges her, knocking her concentration out from her wand. She gives him a look, distinguishing her light with a light _nox_.

“My what? My lights? How do you know about them?”

“I’ve seen you around – with them trailing behind you. How did you tame fairies like that? I thought they hated humans.” Fred is sitting back in his seat, angled towards her. His back is in one corner and his arm is slung over the edge of the chair. His other hand holds his wand lazily, wriggling it absentmindedly. A small red bulb of light sits at the end of his wand. Eleonor felt like he was missing the bubble gum.

“It isn’t real fairies. It’s my magic. And yeah, I can change their colour.” She answered. Fred was still looking at her, asking for a demonstration. She looked around nervously; Mr Flitwick was chatting lightly with some students about the spell, the other twin was laughing loudly with his partner, and bringing Aboriginal magic into a British classroom was just too weird. Nevertheless, she called forth her magic, little beads of light appearing in the air, growing wings, legs and a head. The little fairies danced across her desk, each of them flickering through the rainbow.

Fred leads forward and touches them, his hands going through the light source. His curious face was highlighted by the fairies before him.

“You can do non-verbal, wandless?” he asked, shocked.

“No, its Aboriginal magic. I can – uh – change their form.” Eleonor felt strange, bragging over the flexibility of indigenous magic. It wasn’t really fair; this was only a second year class. Surely they would learn much complex spells in the future. The fairies changed into soft glowing balls, then into a halo like her parent’s favourite shape. She was just switching them into several bars of light when Mr Flitwick’s voice broke over her concentration.

“Miss Yindi,” his amused voice contrasted his stern stance, hands on his hips as he surveyed Eleonor’s magic. He didn’t even twitch when she changed them back into fairies, dancing across her desk, strobing like any good disco light. “Your Indigenous magic is fascinating, but unfortunately nobody else here has seen it before.” The fairies changed to bright red, reflecting the burning feeling on her cheeks. A quick glance around showed that everyone near her was looking at the blissfully unaware fairies on her desk. Thankfully, not every student in the class was watching.

“Sorry, sir.” She mumbles and extinguishes the fairies with a little wave. _Please call me Eleonor_ , she almost said, but being in the limelight of her peers was already too much. Calling into their cultural differences would be crossing the line.

“Mr Flitwick,” she calls, sitting back up when a question enters her mind. “Is their anyway to detach the light from your wand?”

He returns to the front of her desk and begins to demonstrate an additional and more complex spell. True to his word, the light did detach from his wand, and he could send it places, but it still required his wand and he couldn’t change the shape of it like Eleonor could do with her own magic.

At the end of the lesson, Eleonor swept out of the classroom, her belongings neatly returned to her backpack. She slid her earphones into her ears and squeezed the play/pause button, increasing the volume slightly as the corridors began to fill with rowdy, chatty students. She slipped between people, careful of not touching anyone, mind quickly running through the things she wanted to do at the library. Find one more book for potions. Begin the transfiguration homework. Perhaps she could look at the light spell? She also wanted to look at some history –

Percy broke through her thoughts with a polite wave and smile, Eleonor greeting him as she pulled out one of the earbuds.

“Howdy,” she greets, matching his stride to the library. “What would you like to do before dinner?” the library was located on the sixth floor, so as they travelled the amount of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs around them dropped away as everyone went their own path back to the houses. Percy was chatting about his recent Ancient Runes class right until they come to their customary spot, a relatively small round table below a breathtakingly large window, panes stretching from the ceiling to the roof. Today it lacked any colour, allowing the weaker Scottish sunlight to fall brilliantly across the library.

Percy and Eleonor placed their bags at the desk, claiming it, before they separated to walk between the shelves. Eleonor found all the books she needed and after strolling around the history section for a few more minutes she returned to the table, to see not only Percy already getting out his writing utensils, but the twins taking her seat. Their backs were to her, so she walked closer to hear what they were saying.

“-she’s got this really cool magic! I thought she was showing off until Professor Flitwick-”

“-also she calls him Mista Flitwick? And asks to be called by her first name off the bat?”

“-Professor Flitwick mentions _Indigenous magic?_ Have you heard of it Percy?”

“Yes, Eleonor has showed me her magic.” He answers primly, flicking his eyes up to catch hers. “Although its best to ask her yourself.” He dips his head in acknowledgement. The twins turn in union, eyes widening and their ears burning when they see her.

“What would you like to know? I can’t answer all your questions, a lot of it is very secretive.” They shuffle over, sliding around the table on the curved seats. She retrieves her stuff from her backpack, sliding out her laptop and bigger headphones. The bag disappears under the desk, along with some of the history books she didn’t need immediately.

The twins don’t ask that many questions other than the basic; they watch her ear piercing like hawks as she performs a few simple spells, like a heating cloak or an anti-gravity spell. It remains inconspicuous, no flashing lights, no heating up. Even the bigger ones like Jenny’s dragon had no weight. They were all intentionally made to fade into the background. Jenny even used a forget-me-not spell for those with no knowledge of a Billywig.

Once their burning questions about her magic were answered, the twins fell silent. Sensing to what they were gearing up to ask, she begins to spill on all her findings on the difference between Australia and the UK.

“In Australia, almost nobody calls people by their last name. I address my classmates by their first names from the get go. We introduce ourselves by our first names. My teachers call me by my first name. I call my teachers by their last name, but I don’t use Professor. My year 7 teacher’s name was Sam Balengetti, right? Her co-workers would call her Sam; I’d call her by Mrs Balengetti. Professor is for university.” She drops her eyes down to her laptop, already unlocked and still open on the word doc she had left it on last night. It was the potions assignment. “Being called _Yindi_ is just really weird.”

“Oh that’s very interesting,” Percy comments from across the table. “I’ve always introduced myself with my full name, and when you just said Eleonor it was a very strange feeling. I almost convinced myself you were some secret heir to an important family.” His crooked grin grew as Eleonor gave a light laugh.

“I’ve tried to explain this to the teachers but they _still_ call me Miss Yindi. And they wonder why I don’t respond.” Eleonor slides the top three textbooks off the stack next to her, catching them with her magic and placing them next to her on the seat. The potions textbook found itself on the table between the laptop and her, and she leafed through the pages as she talked.

“Well, it seems like the perfect time to disappear.” Fred commented, standing up and sliding out between the table and the seats.

“See you later Percy… Eleonor.” She waved at George, farewell falling out of her mouth without a thought. She focused on switching her earphones for her headphones and focused on potions. Supposedly the textbook before her could answer her burning questions. The assignment on moonstones was already done and dusted, and now she was researching two essential potion ingredients; not only by themselves but the relationship between the two.

Despite the quiet library atmosphere, chill music flowing through her headphones and Percy hardly stirring up any breeze at the table, Eleonor constantly found her eyes drawn elsewhere when she contemplated the next sentence; sometimes it was the window, sometimes it was the scenery through the window. Not far from where they sat a group of Ravenclaws, about fifth year, had claimed a table and she found herself watching them with great interest.

The way they sat in silence, gigantic feathers shifting as they wrote line by line, eyes focused on the parchment before them…

Eleonor sighed and reached down to her bag to get her camera. They looked pretty focused, so Eleonor should be able to freely take some snaps. The contrast between their colourful feathers and dark uniform was magical, and the sunlight thrown across the group made for a picture perfect moment. Now, if she could only take the picture she was seeing.

Throughout the afternoon she crawled through the library taking mediocre pictures of people and fantastic moments of the books and the bookshelves. She even experimented with the big window – Percy was just a silhouette before the glass.

She settled down after she had taken as much photos as possible, but Eleonor could still feel the itch to take pictures long after she finished the potions essay and began on the transfiguration piece. She picked up her camera several times to flick through the photos. There were decent ones, yes, and she could’ve made them greater if she knew how to manipulate photos. But nevertheless she was happy with what she took, and could wait to take more.

Percy began to pack up ten minutes to dinner, carefully lining his equipment up to insert neatly into his satchel.

“Oh, why did you wait for me.” He sighed, noticing all her stuff was away, books returned to their rightful place. “You could’ve gone to dinner already!” a small smile graced his face, almost contradicting his words. Eleonor simply shrugged and waved the camera in front of his face.

“Wanna have a look at some photos?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy its ya boi amy
> 
> The thing about Australians calling each other by their first name? its true. When I read hp the first thing I really noticed was ‘why is harry calling draco by his last name??? so weird.’ Every time they’d be (not only in the books but also fanfiction) doing the Potter! Malfoy! thing it was just… Really funny to me. Also America does it??? So its like, Australian TM (because there’s no other English countries, apparently. Nz? Who? Australia already struggles to be included in American and british stuff)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTLY UPLOADED CHAPTER EIGHT... sorry if you got confused!

[1]

Keeping on top of her homework definitely had its advantages; bright Saturday morning normally called for students to lock themselves in the library to study and complete assessments, but Eleonor could freely roam Hogwarts’ grounds, camera in hand, and enjoy the spectacular greenery around her. Compared to the weekdays, where Eleonor was developing a habit to do her homework so fast that leaving it made her feel uneasy, Saturday and Sunday were her photography days.

Like now – the dark brick towers of Hogwarts contrasted beautifully with the somewhat clear blue sky. The occasional cloud dashed across the sky, but Eleonor hadn’t seen the sky so clear since she got here. The mystical scenery before her proved hard to capture; the bright sky overshadowed the towers that the majestic appeal of them faded away.

Eleonor lowered her camera and looked around the courtyard. There were a few students about, mostly younger students who would do their homework tomorrow. All older students would be locked away studying for exams. She moved across the open area, eyes jumping from one student to the next. She wasn’t used to open area photography with several human subjects. Taking pictures of people wasn’t her strong point; she liked to take more abstract pictures, like a gigantic building to the left of her picture and a wide lake expanding endlessly on the right.

Nevertheless, when she caught sight of a mail bird gliding down, a student in the middle of the open area with their arm raised, Eleonor raised her camera. It was difficult to take pictures, but Eleonor used the burst feature just in case. As she flicked through the results, she found one where the owl’s wings were wide open and legs stretched out to their maximum. Damn, good pic, she thought, and took a quick snap of the preview with her phone to put on her Instagram story.

“Why isn’t it moving?”

“Oh Jesus,” the voice was so close to her ear her hands jumped at the realisation that someone was extremely close to her. Her phone slipped out of her hands, so she dropped her camera (which was attached to her shoulder strap) to nearly dive after it. “Please don’t stand too close to me.” She turned around and saw Fred and George eying her camera curiously. George was the culprit.

“Your pictures,” Fred said, as useless explanation.

“I know your pictures move, Percy already explained it to me.” Eleonor huffed, slipping her phone back into her pocket and removing one earbud. “We do have moving pictures back at home, but to have such a _high_ quality camera _and_ moving? That’s way too expensive.” She kept one hand on her camera and the other on her hip. It still felt weird to do so through the many layers of her uniform.

“May we see the pictures?” Eleonor pursed her lips. She didn’t really feel like giving her camera over, they wouldn’t know how expensive it is and she couldn’t stop it from falling if they dropped it. So instead she gave them her phone and her Instagram page. After making sure they knew how to scroll, Eleonor sat by them, earphones still connected. She tried her hand at taking pictures of people but ended up zooming into the objects they held; a quill, a textbook, their wand. One boy carried a wizard camera, big bulb propped on the top, chunky middle and worn exterior.

“Isn’t this breaking the secrecy?” George asked upon handing her phone back. The picture on the screen was when she took a picture of a first year practicing the levitation spell. The only supposedly illicit activity captured was the wand and floating feather.

“Well, for one, Australia doesn’t have that, and two, everyone just thinks its photoshop.” The phone returned to its usual place in her shorts’ pocket. She was wearing her school robe over some simple graphic tshirt and cargo pants, in an effort to show that she was only slightly cold. It was true, but it helped that her magic was heating up the air around her.

“Miss Yindi,” Despite her best efforts, all the teachers still called her by her last name, and reluctantly Eleonor assimilated to responding to her last name. The source of the strong voice was a young woman, barely 30s. Her stride was strong and assured, her hair cut close but standing up. As she got closer, Eleonor could see the yellow eagle eyes that jumped around everywhere. “I have been looking for you. Have you taken your flying lessons yet? No? Are you free right now? I know that Australians have a very different method of flying but here in Britain we have a more… secure method.”

“Uh, yeah I’m free,” she glanced towards the twins, unsure.

“This is Madame Hooch, flying instructor and Quidditch referee.” Fred quietly explained as George politely but enthusiastically greeted her. Her face was still just intense but the warm smile seemed to loosen her upright structure. She was intense but enjoyable.

“I can come with you,” Eleonor agreed, figuring that she had taken enough pictures for the morning anyway. “I brought my broomstick, do you want me to get it?” the sharp-eyed teacher turned her attentive gaze to Eleonor, a pleasantly-surprised grin breaking across her face.

“I’ll meet you down at the Quidditch field.” She turned her gaze to George. “You’re welcome to join.” She stalked off, robes, which Eleonor now realised where cut to suit athletic activity, flowing out majestically behind her. Eleonor watched her march off, amazed.

“I – wow. She’s -” Eleonor felt her face heat up, and quickly dashed away to the Gryffindor tower. “I need to get my broom.” She mumbled to no one in particular, twins still left in the courtyard.

[2]

When she reached the field, a massive structure with eye-watering bright towers opposite the lake, she was surprised to see the twin’s fire red hair across the open space. Madame Hooch crouched over some sticks on the ground. As she got closer she saw her hand two broomsticks to the twins.

“I’m here,” she announced, dropping the pastel blue foot platforms and complimentary flying shoes. Her broom floated by, staying by her side like a well-trained dog. She looked up to see the twin’s confused stares as they stare at the platforms. Meanwhile, Madame Hooch grinned something fierce.

“I take it you like to do some broom skating?” Eleonor dropped to the ground, switching out her normal sandshoes for the skin tight shoes. They had a strong sticking spell for not only the platforms but also so she would stay in the shoes. “How skilled are you?”

“Eh? I can’t maintain my sticking spell for too long.” She slid the platforms onto the broomstick making sure they could move up and down the wood easily. As soon as they rested at good pacing and tightened so they wouldn’t move, Eleonor’s broom dipped so she could click her shoes into the platform, finding her balance easy.

“Mr and Mr Weasley, why don’t you join her?” Madame Hooch gestured to the sticks they had in hand. At her request, they saddled the stick, the small twigs at the end jutting out behind them. _Oh_ , this is what Madame Hooch said by ‘different styles.’ The British used the traditional (and frankly, stereotypical) method of flying a broomstick.

Eleonor preferred the street skating version, where they treat the broom stick as a skate board. While it could be used as transportation, it was mostly used for tricks. At resting point, the broom stick was tilted to the sky slightly, although not to the degree the twins were holding them. Madame Hooch gave them a wave and Eleonor lent the stick forward until it began to smoothly glide forward. Gaining confidence, she began to crouch down. Her magic naturally began to encourage the broomstick to accelerate. Soon she was feeling the wind whip through her robes and hair, somethings she needed to get rid of before doing more extreme tricks.

Eleonor followed the curve of the field, leaning her body into the circle slightly. The broom sped up more and more, her magic following her wishes. Soon she had done a lap, Madame Hooch standing where she had been in the beginning. There wasn’t enough space between them for Eleonor to slow down naturally, so she spun the broom a 180, moving backwards until the broom’s need to move forward cancelled out her momentum. By the time she came to a standstill, she had crouched down low, one hand on the stick to steady herself.

As she stood up to remove her robe and tie her hair back, she spotted the twins floating maybe two stories higher, watching.

“DAMN ELEONOR.” One of them yelled, even though loudly talking would’ve been enough.

“THAT WAS AWESOME.” The other continued.

“I haven’t seen broom skating in forever.” Madame Hooch grinned, one hand on her hip as another one held a sleek broomstick upright. “That was amazing.”

“It’s basics,” Eleonor could’ve thought up ten more tricks that would’ve made the twin’s eyeballs pop out of their head, but just by having the platforms and shoes any other broom skater could see that Eleonor could only do the bare minimum. It was like having elbow and knee paddings on skates.

She flew up to where the twins floated, looking out across the field. At each end giant sticks with hoops proudly stood. Eleonor knew Quidditch vaguely; they played it in Australia, but her family wasn’t really into the sports scene.

“Want to race?” Eleonor quirked a smile at George’s request. Before she learnt how to stop, Eleonor learnt how to speed skate. And well, that was never really a good combo.

[3]

It was almost dusk, the sun taking its last gasp before the clouds smothered the sky. The pitch was already brilliantly lit by floodlights, strong enough for each blade of grass to cast its own shadow.

The broomstick felt alien and unsteady between her legs; she couldn’t feel the wood, rather a rather beaten and tired throw pillow for her arse to sit on. The cushioning charms on the school brooms were old and almost gone, but it was better than nothing. Australian brooms lacked the comfort, and the spell was too complex for Eleonor to cast. Madame Hooch insisted on using the school broom anyway, despite any chance of Eleonor replicating the charm with Aboriginal imagination.

She slowly glided alongside the twins, having gathered enough confidence to fly higher than along the ground. Madame Hooch stood below, hands on hips and radiating approval. Fred was oozing laziness. He had one leg propped up on the front of the broom, arm resting on the knee. He leaned back, most of his weight on the back. Despite that, the broom was steadily moving forward. George was less obvious about his skill, preferring to just ride one handed and swinging his legs as they went.

Ignoring the cushion charm, the broom also showed signs of age. The stick was chipped and worn down. There was a certain patch around where Eleonor’s hands where that was a _touch_ smoother than the surrounding areas, someone had taken a little chunk out of the top and there was something at the base that looked like someone was trying to engrave their initials. To top it all off, the broom seemed to steer itself down. Correcting it was easy but Eleonor was still shaky on taking off.

“…he likes to believe himself as the next greatest Seeker, but between us three? Ron’s more suited to be a Chaser, or a Keeper.” Fred’s voice dropped to a hush at his secret, a great difference in volume from the previous five minutes of rambling between the two twins. The change in tone shook Eleonor out of her concentration zone and the next words registered in her mind. “Is Qudditch popular in Australia?”

She considers the question. Eleonor wasn’t sporty, preferring to ooh and ahh over whatever Jenny had or listen to the stories of her parent’s latest hunt. The wizarding community didn’t come together often, but the biggest gathering would have to be the matches. Eleonor gave a mental rundown of the shit Fred and George had talked about the entire afternoon – namely, Quidditch and their family. “Yeah, it’s big, I guess.”

“I’ve heard stories about Australian Quidditch teams.” George pipes up, flying just a touch faster to allow his face into Eleonor’s eyesight. He looks pleased.

“Well, uh, I guess things do get intense.” Like any team and their fans would get intense in a match. Yeah, there might be a few stories of loose dragons but honestly there hasn’t been a sports team that does stupid actions to hype up the crowd. “Although, I must say, I don’t really follow that scene.”

“You should come to our game next weekend!” Eleonor gave Fred a sharp glance, quickly returning her gaze to sweep the ground below them. It doesn’t _look_ like the ground got any closer in the time Eleonor wasn’t looking.

“I didn’t realise that there’s a match so early in the term.” She began to guide the broom higher, the twins adjusting their weight minutely to follow her upwards. “Are you in the team?” Despite her lack of knowledge about Quidditch, the _Hogwarts; A History_ book had made it clear how important the matches were. To be on the team certainly justified their easiness with flying.

“Yeah! We’re Beaters!”

“The match is on next Saturday, at 10am.” George pointed towards the gold and red towers. Beside the structures were far more low-lying rows of seats, also decked out in the same colour.

“That’s Gryffindor seats, Percy should be somewhere in the back corner. He says he hates it, but he shows up every time.” Fred’s grin is cheeky, and Eleonor finds herself grinning back. It was strange to hear of Percy from the twin’s perspective, just like it was to interact with them after hearing of Percy’s long sufferings at their hands.

“Alright. I’ll come.” _I probably won’t enjoy it,_ she thinks, despite the promise she says. The words aren’t allowed to leave her mouth though, because Fred and George seemed to think the world of Quidditch. She looked down at the ground, now shockingly distant. She looked around, noticing the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon; the castle’s lights were glowing strongly behind the Quidditch Pitch’s towers. Madame Hooch was waving to them, voice lost in the distance between them.

Eleonor’s magic wavered, heating spell almost breaking apart in the onslaught of colder weather. It had been alright when the sun was up, but now her magic wasn’t going to hold. She glanced once more at the ground.

“Last one to the ground is a rotten egg!” she says, throwing them a smirk and pushing the point of the broom almost perpendicular to the ground, feeling her whole body being thrown back at the sudden wind pushing her back. Working with her magic, the broom smoothly transitioned to a curve and, keeping in mind that she needed to angle the broomstick a little high, she speeds along the grass, just a head above the solid compact earth. Madame Hooch was approaching rapidly; she couldn’t do a 180 in traditional method let alone on a wonky broom, so very slowly she loosened her speed until she completed the flight with a slow, smooth curved around Madame Hooch. “Hey Miss!”

“So much for not being very comfortable with traditional style,” she laughed, one gloved hand over her mouth to hide her smirk as the twins come zooming in, complaining about the head start the Eleonor had.

**Author's Note:**

> S/O to all my readers!  
> please please please comment your thoughts! I keep all comments in my email, starred, and go through them regularly! I don't care if it's a simple good story or something more in-depth!  
> whats really on my mind is if i use too many sentence patterns too often, if the method of ending chapters is weird if i am too brief or too concise and how to change all that. please help me improve! i am literally going to uni to become a film director/writer so PLEASE help me develop my writing ability!


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